Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Chapter 4 The Strange Case of Mr.  Brooks.  Anya's Story



   There was blood on the sun the day he came to town.  Blood on the sun,
because the townsfolk could find no more fitting an idiom to describe the
state of it.  From that first sign of dawn til that evening's sunset - and
then for just a few minutes longer than dusk normally permitted - the big
bright orb that hovered over the vast stretch of land that was Coxville
county was splotched, saturated with a most peculiar shade of crimson.  A
thick coating of red that encapsulated the perfect sphere, and as a result,
gave the entire town's skyline a low and hazy tint, as though it were stuck
in a permanent blush just above the earth.  A queer phenomena, which to the
town's inhabitants went noted as one of the strangest and most
unprecedented acts of nature ever to occur in the small southern community.
One of the strangest to be sure...but certainly not the first to occur in
the region.



   Anyone outside the boundaries of the southern town who may have been at
all curious or inclined to gaze up at the sky on that day, would have been
either disappointed or (more likely)indifferent to find that the great
circle from their position hung and shone in its normal shape and hue. 
Nothing at all out of the ordinary, and to the rest of the human population
residing on its side of the globe in which sun held sway at that time, it
was just a typical day filled with routine deeds under a mundane blue sky.
The big red ball and the aberrant cloak that came in effect was only
viewable from within the secluded boundaries of Coxville County.  And
neither meteorologists, local historians, nor living witnesses of the event
has recorded or agreed to give any sort of commentary to outsiders about
that day, much like how they've done in the past with other interesting
affairs pertaining to the land.

   It didn't mark the sign of anything notably exciting after all...outside
of a new resident coming to town that is.  It loomed there, large, round
and uncommonly viewable in a cloudless space as a small caravan of trucks
approached.  Led by a long, sleek and immaculate looking jet black limo
sedan, the line of automobiles traversed the roads after passing the
neighboring lands of Coxburg, which resided north of the I-69, before
leading onward into town.  It passed Lake Cox at close to mid-day, the
remains of the long abandoned settlement which once stood there still
perceptible, even from afar.  The dust plume that came in its wake caused
local wildlife to stir and seek cover from the passing cavalcade from their
exposed positions of lily pads, bare rock faces, and clearings in the open
grasslands.

   It passed the rural farmlands and gleaning fields in an aggregation of
humming engines not long after.  Eventually the rural areas of nature and
wildlife disappeared, and the line of vehicles passed into the stretch of
cracked and long unattended concrete streets of more populated areas of
Coxville.  An urban settlement modeled with the various architectural
styles and pathways of New Orleans.  The land was known locally as N-Town,
an area predominantly inhabited by the county's African-American
inhabitants.  The precession gathered a host of onlookers, curious parties
consisting of the old, middle aged, and the young.  A few of the children
playing in the streets pointed fingers at the driven march, all the trucks
emblazoned with the company logo "We-Haul" on the broad side.  And their
gazes never failed to settle on the one vehicle in particular that was
leading the trek.



   The sedan drove at a steady pace down the main street, a broad vein of
cracked sidewalks and weary pavement through the town proper, known
publicly to its local residents and uttered (in hushed tones privileged
with separation) by their uptown neighbors as "Nigger Town".  The N-Town
residents watched in a mix of curiosity, excitement, and a fair few less
than approachable faces holding hostility in the moment the black vehicle
passed them.  Looks varied between faces of men, women, children, and the
elderly.  All of them the colors of deep ebony, caramel and varying shades
of brown.  Even from a far distance away, and despite the reflective
surface of the tinted windows giving not even the smallest clue to the
identity of sedan's driver or possible passengers, they knew they were
being watched from the inside of the vehicle.  They could feel it in their
bones that whoever this newcomer was, this high collar big shot making a
big show of his arrival, he was well aware of their existence.  And as they
drove by they knew whoever it was was appraising them from behind the pitch
black glass, drawing some unknowable conclusion about them.

   When the caravan traversed uptown and into the greater area of Coxville
where it's predominantly non-black population dwelled, the response was
very much the same.  Onlookers watched the precession of trucks - most
closely paying attention to the sedan - from their home windows, from in
front of their markets and underneath the awnings of various shops and
proprietary establishments.  It was curiosity, excitement, and a few
glances hinting of apprehension when the black car drove by.  And just like
the residents of N-Town, the Coxvillian community felt the gaze of the
vehicle's concealed driver/s.  It was the same...yet with a single unspoken
element to a select audience.  For many of the women of uptown Coxville --
a beautiful and healthy stock, bred of to what many cited as the highest
caliber to be found in the western world -- there were scant traces of
there being something...more hidden behind the veiled windows.

   The unseen leer grabbed onto and played about with the women's senses,
and the symptoms silently teased them.  Hairs suddenly stood on end for no
discernible reason.  Heartbeats quickened despite the fact they were
strolling down the town's street at no more than a casual pace.  The
slightest wave of anticipation spiked for the briefest of moments inside
their round and plentiful chests, which (for some unknowable reason)
suddenly grew goose flesh, causing their nipples to turn into tight pink
buds beneath their clothing.

   It was the strangest thing, that was never spoken aloud nor made
reference to by those experiencing the phenomena.  The event explored no
further to the casual distaff observer than that of a whimsical well that
was strange.  Blood on the Sun was what the Coxville folk called it, the
day he moved into town

   ...

   "Now what in the Sam hill's all this?" asked Cletus McGuire, the
fifty-something year old convenience shop owner.  He stood behind his
cashier's counter, an older Caucasian man with a round face and an even
rounder midsection.

   "Looks like someone new's movin into town", replied Todd White from the
other side of the counter, a coke and a bag of chips in his hands.  In
almost complete contrast to the proprietor of the shop, Todd was a tall,
handsome and athletically built young man.  His chiseled facial features
slightly upturned in a look of curiosity flirting with smallest bit of
excitement as he and Cletus watched the mass of vehicles pass by the wide
circular shop window.

   "Movin in?" said Cletus, obviously perplexed and unaware.

   "You've been sittin behind that counter too long Cletus.  You gotta get
out more" replied Todd, a faint sigh of disappointment held in his breath.

   "I didn't hear anything about any new folks movin into Coxville, where
they headed?"

   "Oh, it's only been the main buzz in town for a little over two months
now." Said Todd with a faint grin and only somewhat gloating on the info he
sat upon.  Clearly the young man knew something the old man didn't, a small
display of power flexed before his elder.

   "Don't be a wise ass.  Some of us gotta work for a livin.  Not all of us
get to bask in the glory of our youth" said Cletus, only somewhat
begrudgingly.

   "They're headin to that new house", Todd yielded.  "You know, the one
they been building on that hill overlooking city hall."

   "Ah" barked Cletus in a slight recollection of the town notice that
there would be a busy construction crew doing various works on the land
nearer to the peak of town.  He'd noticed it, but only in the most fleeting
of degrees.  The man had a business to run after all.  "They were building
a house there?" Cletus' earlier confusion now replaced with a tone of
surprise.

   "Yeah..." said Todd, "You mean to tell me you didn't notice all the jack
hammering and pounding up the street for the last few weeks?"

   Cletus pondered it for a bit.  Sure he'd noticed, but again, the man had
a business to run.  "Hell I noticed the construction boy" Cletus barked
while turning somewhat red with Todd's snark.  "By the look and size of the
place I'd have just sworn they were making a new library or something."

   "Nope, it's a house, a huge one too..." replied Todd with a light
chuckle, "apparently some big shot from outta state bought the land and
decided to make it the spot for his new estate.  Few months back some fancy
suit contractors and a small army of builders rolled into town, been
working on it day and night ever since.  Looks like they finally finished
it."

   "Sheesh, all that fuss for some rich city prick tryin to settle into our
town?  Probably just another tourist tryin to do something drastic to stir
up his friends."

   "I dunno..." replied Todd a curious drawl.  "Rumor is the owner has
roots here."

   "Huh...how so?" said Cletus, now officially interested in the identity
of this new slick big city newcomer.

   "I dunno exactly, but that's what I hear.  Guys totally loaded too, I'm
talkin front page of Forbes and Fortune magazine loaded.  What I did hear
is that his family history somehow goes back about as far as..." he paused,
trying to recall the exact year he'd heard.  "I dunno, eighteen hundred
something..."

   "You don't say?" replied Cletus, the fat white fingers of his right hand
stroking one of several of his chins.  "Hmmm, now that got my ears perked
up... You know a lot of the families in Coxville been settled here since
the end of the 18th century?" Cletus straightened himself and grabbed at
the twin straps of his suspenders exclamatorily and with a beaming sense of
pride often found in denizens of the south.  "Yep, includin yours truly,
you've had McGuires, Murphy's, Andersons, Summers and such livin in
Coxville for as far back as the end of the Mexican War.  Startin from the
great war hero Phineas Cox himself, who was pretty tight with my family I
might a--."



   "Yeah" interrupted Todd, trying to cut the history lesson at the root
before Cletus worked himself into a rhythm.  "We learned all about that in
History class...must have been pretty exciting seeing things like cars and
paved roads getting built from nothing back then, eh Cletus?" teased Todd.



   "Now what did I just tell you about bein a wise ass son?" grumbled the
round older man.



   "Ha-ha, just kiddin around with you Cleet."



   "Yeah yeah...that'll be five bucks even Captain..." Shot Cletus,
referencing the chips and the soda sitting atop the counter.



   "Five bucks?!" said Todd, somewhat astonished with the price.  "You
raised the prices again?"



   "Afraid so son, you know the economy's slaying us right now.  The jokers
in the White House make up the rules, I just charge according to them."



   "Sigh..." came the young man as he reluctantly reached into his wallet
and slapped a folded five dollar bill on the counter.



   "Just call it a life lesson on the value of a dollar son." Said Cletus,
only a little condescendingly.



   A minute later Todd and Cletus gave their goodbyes, and Todd White
sauntered his way out the door, making light as best he could being five
dollars poorer.



   "You tell your daddy and that purdy mom a yours I said hello" called
Cletus.



   "She's not my mom" snapped Todd just before the door of the shop closed
behind him.

   ...



   "What a rip-off" grumbled Todd to himself as he took a swig of his soda
and made his way down the main street that led to his house.  "The value of
a dollar?  Psh yeah, guess he'd know, considering back in his day money
came in the form of sheep and coon skin caps."

   Todd walked at an even pace down the streets and around the bends of
Coxville, the strange red sun looming above him in its preparation to
settle into evening behind the hills.  The odd nature and hue was noted
only secondarily to the young man while in his frustration.  Todd wasn't so
sore about the price of his items, as much as he was the biting nickname
Cletus had given him beforehand.  Captain.



   The nickname stabbed at Todd's nerves and grated at his pride.  Cletus,
the old prick.  He knew that Todd was still more than a bit sore at the
fact he'd just recently been replaced on his high school football team. 
His team, the Coxville Cocks, was in the midst of what many natives called
ared hot winning streak.  A winning streak that, much to Todd White's
immense dismay, was being led by not him, but by one Samson West.  Todd's
teeth gritted as he tugged at the bag of chips.  (Old prick) thought Todd
as he rounded the corner that led to the line of lavish suburban homes
making up the neighborhood he lived in.



   Cletus knew that not long ago Todd had been passed over as team captain.
This happened not long at all after the Cocks, in a stunning upset victory,
had outright decimated their long-time rivals the Bartown Beavers.  It was
a decisive win for Coxville high, though one that had left the now seething
Todd more than a little bit bitter.  Todd hadn't quite believed it himself,
even when it was happening and his teammates hooted and hollered as they
lifted Samson onto their shoulders in celebration instead of him. 
Admittedly the young man's mind, at the time, had been preoccupied
on...other triumphs that were supposed to have come to him that night.  The
descriptive version being: the long anticipated and much sought after
victory blowjob Todd had been promised by his now ex-girlfriend Kitty
Summers.  And therein lay the rest of the poison eating away at Todd White.
The young man's lost position on the team was only exacerbated by his being
dumped (like a hot rock) by the young smoking hot blonde cheerleader. 
Kitty was - by official decree of both peers and the subtle nod of elders -
a total knockout.  A little blonde bombshell whose stunning looks,
incredible athletic body and perfect round rack made her a prize piece in
Coxville in much the way Todd figured movie stars were in Hollywood. 
Reminiscing on Kitty's beauty only swatted at a fresh wound.  A wound only
made worse when word finally came to him that Kitty was now dating Samson,
his replacement, mere days after she'd unceremoniously dumped him.  She
hadn't given him a reason, but Todd had his suspicions that Samson and
Kitty had made their coupling `more than official' even before the gossip
gaggle at school had even received a remote scent of the affair.



   It beyond burned Todd up to think that those big round tits, taut bubble
butt and incredible mouth was likely being used freely by that jerk West.
They'd been - more or less - friendly to each other up to that point, even
if Samson was black.  Their friendly rivalry on the field had made them
appropriately jovial to one another.  But now all the competitive jeers and
aggressive one lines had turned to outright conflict between Todd and the
Negro.  It was an insult that he just couldn't bring himself to let go of.
Sure, Todd had been able to offset the burn slightly by dating Pamela,
another cheerleader of stunning beauty in her own right.  But even that
fell head first off the wagon when, in no uncertain terms, Pamela had
dumped him as well...this time via text message.

   Outright Todd had accused her of being just another title rider, a
groupie for whoever sat on the higher social rung of Coxville high's totem.
The thought of being burned by not just one, but two of Coxville's hottest
girls shook him, almost as much as his demotion on the team.  Todd's
father's mantra of being the best or being simply forgotten rang
continually in his head in the wake of all the drama.  And Todd stewed on
it the whole way home.  He'd been so caught up in his silent brooding that
he hardly noticed he'd been steadily eating his chips the entire time until
his fingers grazed the bottom of the bag.







   At the same time Todd realized this, he'd also noticed he had made his
way back home.  His broad and lavish two story suburban that his father,
the big businessman, had reminded him time and again to be grateful for. 
It's not that Todd was actively ungrateful for the house and privileges he
was given...he just didn't really know how to express gratitude for what
he'd figured to be the norm.  Todd and his father never did see eye to eye
on things like that.  This gap in their understanding of one another was
only made worse after she arrived.  As Todd made his way up the block, he
noticed there was a black car sitting on the curb in front of his house. 
Weird, Todd thought.  It wasn't his fathers.  Even if based on a whim he'd
have heard from his father any intent to go out and buy a new car.  It was
a familiar vehicle, and one that Todd soon identified as the one that had
passed by them while he was Cletus' not a half hour prior.

   No way that could be right though, thought Todd.  The newcomer to town
wouldn't have been in his neighborhood.  He'd have been - as far as Todd
would have thought - far too busy with running the stampede of trucks about
a mile back in the town proper.  Todd took the time to inspect the car from
a distance as he walked up to his house.  Same vehicle, a jet black sedan
with tinted windows.  He rounded the car, taking in how pristine it was. 
Todd risked taking a closer look at the automobile, tilting his head closer
to one of the further windows.  He couldn't get a clear view of the car's
interior, and only his curious reflection starred back him as he tried
cupping a hand to see inside.



   And before his eyes could focus, Todd White felt a sudden chill run up
his spine.  He couldn't ignore the abrupt flex of surprise at the sensation
of feeling that - for some unknown reason - he was being watched.  He
looked up from the car and spied the expanse of the block.  No one was
around, no one nearby to scold him for snooping on someone else's property.
But all the same, the piercing feeling of eyes upon him continued.  It made
his heartbeat quicken a bit.  A foreboding wave passed through him.  Is
someone inside the car?  Todd thought.  It would have made sense, but the
silence in the immediate area and the car itself hinted of otherwise.  If
someone was inside the black vehicle looking back at Todd, they made no
effort whatsoever to acknowledge his presence or their being aware of his
curiosity, and they made not the slightest sound to portray their presence.
The feeling gave Todd the creeps, standing near the jet black car left him
ill at ease.  Todd stepped away from the car and headed for his house.



   His dad should be home by now.  She would most definitely be waiting for
him inside, what with her being strictly a housewife and all.  Likely
waitin to bitch at me about something, he thought.  Todd dug in his pockets
in search of his house key as he crossed the picket fence and traversed
across the front lawn.  He'd just gotten a hold of the key ring when the
front door of his house swung open abruptly of its own volition, revealing
a sight that altogether made Todd's heart pause and stutter in his chest.

   ...



   "Oh!" came the somewhat startled noise from the astonishingly beautiful
brown skinned goddess who was - for some thoroughly strange reason -
walking out of Todd's house.  "Excuse me..." she said in a low sultry
breath that instantly made Todd's nerves coo with pleasure.



   Now Todd White had never found himself actively attracted to black women
in the past.  Save perhaps Stacy Brown, the dark skinned hottie on the
cheerleading squad who all the guys on the team agreed had a body that was
built for fucking.  Todd quickly amended this thought upon apprising this
new woman, who Todd was certain he'd never seen before.

   She was a perfect five foot nine, had flawless rich brown skin, high
cheeks bones, full luscious lips, a cutely shaped nose that held none of
the strong African hints he'd equated to most black people, and she wore
her hair in a short straight pixie cut that held a permanent gloss.  Her
set of gorgeous facial features could have placed as anywhere from her late
twenties to her early thirties, and were punctuated by a large pair of
mesmerizing dark brown eyes that, Todd strangely noticed, somehow seemed
older than the sum of her bountiful parts.  Todd had went in reverse of the
typical man's appraisal of the human body.  He starred startled at this new
woman's face.  His jaw all but dropped to ground upon spying the rest of
her.



   The woman's body was something out of a comic book featuring
super-powered vixens and flawlessly built super-heroines.  Her firm legs
trailed upward to reveal a wide set of gorgeous shapely hips - the promise
and curve of a bountiful ass resting behind her - that only barely kept
themselves contained in the tight fitting black skirt she wore.  The tight
fitting blue blouse tucked into the skirt showed her to have a slim taut
waist just before expanding outward to tease the image of the two huge pert
breasts tucked firmly beneath the fabric.  If Stacy Brown had a body built
for fucking, then this woman's body was made for making men cum.



   Growing up in a town like Coxville, a man became well versed in what
made an immaculate pair of tits, whether he actively sought to or not. 
He'd fanaticized on near countless occasions about getting a mouth and
handful of Jenny Summers' -- his ex-girlfriends smoking hot mom - legendary
rack.  Her breasts were the living definition of big and round.  The ones
that slightly bounced before him in a start right now however, rivaled even
the ones belonging to Mrs.  Summers.



   "And...this must be your son Todd" said the woman.



   "Yep" came a man's voice from behind the ebony goddess.  "That's my boy
Todd."



   "Well, it's certainly a pleasure to meet you Todd" said the goddess. 
"Your father was simply beaming while talking about you earlier."



   "Uh--" was the only audible response Todd found himself capable of
giving, entranced at the sight of the woman before him.



   "Todd, not be rude, say hello!" came another voice from behind Todd's
dark skinned queen.  The voice was a sharp tin in the air, carried with a
thick Russian accent that Todd had come to hate, but contradictively found
himself aroused by.

   When Todd finally came to sorts with where he was and who stood before
him, he shook himself into good enough sense to give a stammering "h-hi..."
to this new woman who he - with no degree of uncertainty - was bound to
masturbate to at the earliest opportunity.



   Todd was able to tear himself away from gazing at this new beauty long
enough to peer at the open threshold of the house.  Inside the interior
hallway stood Todd's father, Tom White.  At a little more than six feet
tall, Tom White physically looked identical to his son, if aged by twenty
years or so.  He wore a plain white button shirt, black tie and matching
slacks.  Standing next to Tom was - in a silent cringe of realization to
Todd - was his `step-mother' ( heavy emphases on the step) Anya.  Anya
White stood at five-nine.  She had long silky raven hair that trailed down
to near the middle of the curved shape of her back and a frame almost as
robust and shapely as the black woman standing in front of him.  Anya fit
right in among the females of Coxville, with large round double D breasts
and a bubble butt that many would have sworn was home grown in the deep
south.  Her deep almond eyes always seemed to be turned in a glare at the
young White, a trait that Todd found to be of both disdain and (by Todd's
own admission) an undeniable attractiveness.



   Todd and Anya had never gotten along.  From minute one of her arrival to
Coxville they'd both succeeded in rubbing each other the wrong way, with
Todd rubbing himself the right way to thoughts of her in secret.  Hatred
aside, it could not be denied or mistaken that Anya was - by all means - a
goddess in her right aesthetic right.  Her hourglass hips, perfectly toned
body and gorgeous European facial features made her stand out amongst the
other beauties of Coxville almost as much as her accent did.  And to have
that kind of affect among Coxville's women was saying something.  I guess
she'd better be as hot, Todd thought on many occasions, considering how
much money my old man shelled out to get her here... Todd had thought to
himself so often that now the phrase almost seemed like a tiny mantra. 
Stunningly beautiful as Anya was, to Todd she acted like nothing short of a
cold hard bitch.



   At every opportunity Anya voiced some new complaint or grievance with
Todd's `attitude', which she made known on every opportunity she at all
didn't care for.  An ignored request here, and spurned flex of parental
authority there, and the two had gradually found themselves in a domestic
tumult that was to be sounded from both sides, with Tom being the sole
force in the center keeping all-out war from engulfing the White household.



   "Todd, this is..." Tom began before trailing off somewhat.  "I'm so
sorry, I'm terrible with names, Miss..."

   That's weird, thought Todd.  He'd never seen his father act so
apologetic remembering a name before.  As a businessman he'd told Todd time
and again that someone's who name you can't remember must not be one worth
remembering.  As Whites our brains take in only the information we know is
essential in our enhanced development, everything else...is empty
calories.Todd found a flaw with that line of thinking, but didn't want to
probe deeper into what that flaw was.  This nameless woman standing in his
doorway however, Todd most definitely wanted to probe, in more ways than
one.



   "It's fine" she said with a light giggle.  "I've found I rather like
being anonymous in certain situations.  Like taking on the role of the
mysterious benefactor almost."

   Todd gnawed at this idea for a moment.  How could anyone not remember a
body like that, he thought.  "Adela" the woman then said, revealing a
gorgeous smile shone with flawless white teeth.  "Adela Laveau."

   Adela, thought Todd.  The name sang in his brain.



   "Right, of course..." Tom replied.  If Todd didn't know any better, he'd
have sworn his father was blushing.  "Miss Laveau is the assistant for Mr.
Alexander Brooks" Tom exclaimed to Todd, the woman's status and pedigree
obviously having left his father more than a bit impressed.



   "Brooks..." said Todd curiously, almost tasting the word when said
aloud. He'd heard the name plenty over the last few weeks.  It had been
dropped in questioning whispers and curious murmurs amongst many of
Coxville's citizens.  No one knew much about the mysterious man, aside from
the fact the guy was reported as being insanely rich, and was made famous
for the mysterious background and taciturn lifestyle as much as - if not
moreso - his broad endeavors in the corporate world.



   "Yes" continued Adela.  "Mr.  Brooks just moved into the county today."



   "Yeah, I noticed the trucks" replied Todd, trying to press down his
nervousness around Miss Laveau and engage in conversation that spanned
further than monosyllables.  "Those were his huh?"



   "Indeed.  Mr.  Brooks is very excited about moving into your fine town,
and he hopes there was wasn't too much of a ruckus made with his arrival."



   "Yeah, I noticed all the construction too.  Those guys were working
really hard on it."



   "That they were, and we're very pleased with the results.  I hope it
wasn't too much of a disturbance for you" said Miss Laveau, a seemingly
genuine lilt of concern in her tone.



   "Oh, no no, not at all!" belted Todd, bringing his hands up in a gesture
of surrender.  He immediately noticed his stammer had returned upon Miss
Laveau directly addressing him, and realized his stymied manner of speech
at the woman's beauty was just as bad as his father's.  "I uh, I think it's
cool that we have someone new moving in."



   "I'm very glad to hear it.  Mr.  Brooks is very adamant about making the
community feel comfortable with his arrival.  A smooth transition is what
he aims for."

   Todd noticed Miss Laveau's accent.  It was southern, but didn't carry
the strong drawl that he noticed came in many black people's speech in the
state.  Instead it was a dainty, eloquent and silky tambour.  This sexy
sister most definitely wasn't from around here.



   "Mr.  Brooks is throwing a little get together at his estate next week"
Tom then said, holding up a rectangular piece of tailored paper that was -
from Todd's angle - engraved with something.  A hand-written invitation by
the look of it.



   "Yes" said Miss Laveau agreeably, "just a little party we're having to
give him an opportunity to meet and greet a few of the people of note in
town."



   "And we've been invited!" chimed Tom, almost beaming at the mere thought
of being a `person of note' in Mr.  Brooks' eyes.  Anya simply stood next
to her husband, a wide smile on her face that came nowhere near her eyes
when settled on Todd.



   "Cool..." Todd said plainly.  "Can't wait..."



   "Adult only Todd!" said Anya, her pronunciation of `Todd' coming out as
`Tood'.  Todd sneered inside, but kept his gaze pleasant while on Adela.



   "Lame..."he said simply.



   "I'm sorry dear" Adela said warmly, a more than comforting smile aimed
directly at Todd.  "This party in particular I'm afraid is aimed at a
more...adult audience.  But, this is only one of several meetings we've got
planned.  Mr.  Brooks intends to meet everyone in Coxville in due time. 
He's a particular eye on the town's youth.  Always on the lookout for young
potential."



   "You hear that Todd" said Tom.  "Mr.  Brooks is on the lookout for new
talent.  Great opportunity for you if he notices you."



   "I'm sure Mr.  Brooks will be delighted meeting you" Adela then said. 
For a split second Todd felt a little impressed with himself.  He hadn't
tried hard, but apparently he'd left a good impression on the smoking hot
assistant of the town's new and insanely rich neighbor.  The wind from the
young man's sails immediately left him however when Adela added -



   "Delighted meeting all of you..." And if Todd noticed Miss Laveau's gaze
settle on Anya's for perhaps a moment longer than what would have been
deemed polite, he didn't say as such.

   Adela then straightened herself and headed past Todd out from the
threshold of the White home.  As she stepped past Todd, he caught the
slightest scent of her from a faint idle breeze on the coming night air. 
An intoxicating aroma of light perfume that Todd - for the death of him -
couldn't place, but found himself uncontrollably attracted to.  He felt the
threat of an erection tug at his underpants upon the simple grazing of
their bodies as Miss Laveau's shoulder brushed against his.



   "Well, I'd best be on my way.  There's still quite a few invitations
I've left to hand out before tomorrow."



   "You're handing them out door to door?" asked Todd in a fleeting attempt
to keep Miss Laveau around for just a bit longer.



   "Oh yes" replied Adela matter-of-factly.  "Mr.  Brooks wouldn't have it
any other way.  He prefers interpersonal and...hands on approaches to these
kinds of matters."



   "I see" interjected Tom.  "Man sounds efficient, gotta respect that. 
Does Mr.  Brooks have any particular preference of wine Miss Laveau?  I
figure it would only be polite to bring something to the party."



   "Oh, please Mr.  White" replied Adela, seeming almost charmed at the
gesture.  "Everything involving refreshments and entertainment has already
been arranged.  You just need to bring your handsome self, and ,of course,
your lovely wife...Anya was it?"

   Tom's and Anya's faces both immediately flushed.  Todd was three seconds
away from concluding Miss Laveau just had that effect on everyone she met.



   "Y-yes, Anya" confirmed the raven haired Russian.  "And pleasure meetink
you Miss Laveau", the name 'Laveau' coming out as "Lu-vou"



   "Great, can't wait" added Tom.



   Todd hadn't noticed, but the three of them had followed Adela all the
way to her car.  He wasn't even sure if they were aware they'd been walking
until just then.  The red afternoon sky had finally settled into a hazy
twilight when the passenger door of the black car opened.  So that was her
car, pondered Todd.  Or, the car she was given to hand out Mr.  Brook's
invitations.  Todd hadn't noticed the huge bald headed black man at the
wheel until Adela was sliding into the passenger side of the vehicle, her
long lean leg stretching out from the curb and settling herself inside. 
Todd suddenly felt a little embarrassed upon realizing he was most likely
staring at the driver like a goon during his earlier examination of the
black car.



   "Neither can I Mr.  White..." Adela then said, her award winning smile
framing her immaculate brown features.



   And without another word, the tinted black window slowly began to roll
up, erasing Miss Laveau's face in a span of inches before disappearing
completely behind a sheet of impenetrable darkness.  The car came to life
and then began to roll down the street at an even pace to the next lucky
household, the noise of the engine secluded to only a moderate hum.  Todd,
Tom and Anya White waved at the charming Miss Laveau and the car as it
faded in the distance.  Tom White beamed at the thought of being invited to
the party of Coxville's newest and most wealthy citizen.  Todd silently
rejoiced at the thought of masturbating to the beyond sexy Miss Adela
Laveau.  And Anya...for reasons she didn't even understand, fought down
what must have been an odd sort of heat flash.  A mysterious anticipatory
tingle that echoed in her body and in her bones that seemed to grow inside
her from the minute she'd gotten within a certain distance of the black
car.



   And if the sensation bore a striking resemblance to the ones experienced
earlier that day by the other white beauties of Coxville County, well, Anya
White wouldn't have had any real way of knowing.

   *********

   "Ohma GAWD Mr.  White!" Adela moaned in her silky tinted voice.  "Who'da
thought you were hiding such a big white cock from me!"

   Todd lay flat on his back, arms folded behind his head comfortably, a
confident smile framing his lips as he appraised his sexy black bitch's
efforts.



   "You can call me Todd", he replied.  "As long as you keep up that pace
and get all of my cock into that hot chocolate pussy of yours..."

   Miss Laveau rocked herself harder on top of his cock.  She'd shake his
bed from side to side, forwards and backwards, all the while bouncing her
beautiful round rump on top his vanilla meat.  Things often came to a head
whenever Todd would say,



   "Todd!" came Adela's voice.

   "You can do better than that Miss Laveau" he replied, just before using
his hand to pull Adela all the way down onto the remaining few inches of
his hard unit.



   "OH MY GOD, SO BIG!!" she'd bellow aloud, just before shaking herself
into what appeared to be a crippling orgasm.

   This in turn would trigger Todd to near a climax as well with each
thrust.



   "OH TODD, TODD, TOOOODD!"

   Mere moments before Todd could reach his own happy ending however, his
climax was halted by the odd change that had occurred in Adela's voice.  It
was no longer the sultry croon of her New Orleans accent, but the foreign
belt of a thick Russian one.  Coming from his brown skinned goddess, the
voice didn't sound right at all.  It threw off his rhythm, and caused
Todd's penis - a normal six inches in reality - to immediately soften in
his hand.







   "Todd!  Won't ask again, up!" Yelled Anya from downstairs.

   The baying lilt of Anya's voice came from outside his room, her accent
turning his name into a long winded "Toood".  "Todd, wake up!  You will be
late for schoolink again!"

   Todd White lay in bed, his eyes half crusted over with the remnants of
his sleep.  Anya wouldn't have had any way of knowing the young man had
already been awake for the last ten minutes.  His left hand buried
underneath his covers, tugging fiercely at the rock hard erection that
slightly teepeed his comforter.  This had been about the sixth time that
morning Todd had had a go at himself.  From one AM the previous night, Todd
White had been pleasuring himself at wavering intervals.  Waking up
randomly with thoughts of the simply delicious Miss Adela Laveau dancing
about in his mind.

   He'd stroke himself hardily to mental images of miss Laveau's big round
chocolate tits bouncing in front of his face.  Motion captures of her
shapely brown hips thrusting and gyrating on top of his hard -- `foot long'
-- cock.

   Todd would stroke himself harder to the image of her bending over, her
long lithe legs stretching and pulling with each pump he'd give her.  He'd
been at this non-stopped for more than a week now, and the visual still
hadn't failed to make him nut.  Provided Todd's royal bitch of a stepmother
didn't set a flame to whole fantasy with her constant yelling.



   "Fuck!" cursed Todd, his fantasy dashed.

   In that place between his dreams and in the confines of his warm bed,
Todd White reigned as a sexual tyrannosaurus.  In his fantasies he was a
man who women begged to please with every hole they had to offer.  In his
fantasies he had a cock the size of a Pringles can that made even the black
guys on his football team green around the gills.  And in his fantasies,
making women tremble with thunderous toe-curling orgasms came as easy as
breathing.  And Anya, his nominal stepmother, had decimated his kingdom
with but the mere shrill of her voice.  Todd was fully awake now, back in
the real world where he was bitter, bitchless and going to bat with nothing
remotely close to the amount of wood he had had been making Miss Laveau
slide up and down on in his mind.



   "Fuck!" Todd repeated, pulling himself out of bed and staggering about
his room in search of clothes to wear.

   Ten minutes later, Todd had - somehow - fumbled into a pair of clean
blue jeans and a fresh maroon colored t-shirt, close to the shade of his
team colors.  Todd went about fixing his hair, brushing his teeth and
appraising himself in the mirror.  For what it was worth, he was quite
impressed with what he saw.  Young, handsome, physically in the prime of
his youth.  He forced a smile and made his way downstairs, his backpack
draped over one shoulder.  The smile melted away upon catching glimpse of
his stepmother in the kitchen.



   "Todd, I told you to settink alarm last night.  I tired of wakink you
every mornink."

   No `good morning Todd', no `I made you breakfast sweetheart', nothing
even close to what a mother, a real mother, would say to her son first
thing in the morning.  No, with Anya, it was always bitching.  Every
morning began with some new complaint or half-hearted order from her.  Todd
sneered as he walked passed her, her taut body concealed in her thinly
layered silk morning robe.  Todd hated Anya, but god did he love her body.
Even when covered, his Russian step-mother's physique oozed sexuality. 
Women in Coxville were world renowned for their beauty, taut healthy
bodies, and - most famous - their incredible breasts.  Anya hit the mark in
all three departments, even despite being a foreigner.  She fit right into
the fold in way of looks among the females in Coxville.  Her dark almond
eyes only made the point hit that much harder between his legs.

   The only thing that perhaps set her apart from any of the other women in
town was that accent of hers.  Todd understood what she was saying more
often than not.  But sometimes, during particularly annoying reprimands,
Todd couldn't resist entertaining the desire to appease his inner redneck
and tell the twenty-something mail order bride, at the top of his lungs
"THIS IS A'MERICA, SPEAK A'MERICAN BITCH!" He never did say that outright
though.  Todd was still coming to grips with the idea that - technically -
this woman was supposed to be acting as his mother.  It was hard taking
someone so sexy that seriously though, especially when you heard her
moaning and groaning from your dad porking her every other night.  Whenever
Anya went and got all fired over something Todd did (or didn't) do, he
could never bring himself to really pay attention, as he would be too
occupied watching her pert tits heave and bounce with her winded rants.



   "Yeah yeah" replied Todd bluntly.  "Relax, I just forgot."



   "No forget" Anya shot back.  "You forget last week already, and week
before.  You just not listenink."

   Todd passed her, not stirring so much as an eyebrow at the accusation,
and made a big show of paying the open refrigerator more attention than
her.



   "See, you're doink it right now Todd.  Purposely ignorink me!  Your
father -"



   "My father!  Todd interrupted flatly, not even bothering to turn his
head to the dark haired woman.  "Believe it or not, makes a pretty regular
habit of not `listenink' to you whenever you start complaining over stupid
stuff too." And the only time he does listen is when he wants to get
between your legs, he added silently.  It's just something us Americans do
when we start hearing crap we don't like.  It goes with the territory of
sleeping in and being awesome at sports.  You'll get used to it."







   "Complain?  Anya replied, disgust and all the signs of being taken aback
held in her voice.  "Complain?!  Anya does not complain.  I orderink!  You
settink alarm every day from now on, without my wakink you.  AND -"Anya
added with an exclamatory finger raised, "you're cleanink out attic, like
your father tell you to three week ago!"



   "What?!?  Todd exclaimed, closing the refrigerator with an audible slam
and coming away with a carton of milk.



   "Bozhe moi " replied Anya in a frustrated sigh.  English wasn't too hard
for the Russian beauty to speak, but whenever excited or worked into a
flustered state, she tended to revert back to her native dialect.  I
say--".



   "I heard what you said" Todd cut off, rather rudely.  "And I'm gonna ask
you the same thing I asked my old man, why the hell do I have to clean out
HIS attic?  It just has a bunch of HIS old stuff, and YOUR old crap from
Russia?"



   "Crap?" Anya said in a lower snarl, one of her hands actually showing
the makings of a fist.  If Todd didn't know any better, he'd have sworn she
was getting ready to deck him one.  "Crap?!  Anya's beloninks not CRAP! 
They are Anya's personal keepsakes from Russia!"



   "All the more reason for you to go in there and organize them yourself,
don't ya think?" Replied Todd with a cutting smirk and a long swig out of
the carton of milk.  More than anything, he'd done it because he knew Anya
HATED when people drank straight out of the carton.



   "Is not point Todd.  Your father told you to be doink it, not ANYA, you!
Instead of complain, why not simply do what you are told?"



   "Why?  Because it's not my crap.  And instead of complaining, I maintain
a simple policy; Not my `crap', not my problem" he replied defiantly.



   Anya's face turned a deeper shade of red in response.  Todd, her
arrogant and spoiled little prick of stepson, was in rare form this
morning.



   "ARGH, you either clean, or your father make you clean."



   "Oh, so you're gonna try to narc on me now?"



   "No narkink, but I will tell Tom, who will MAKE you clean."

   Anya didn't know that the phrase `narc' meant just that.  But rather
than explain, Todd simply chose to take one more giant swig out of the milk
carton, set it down hard onto the island table in the kitchen, grabbed his
backpack, and exited the room with a finalizing,



   "Whatever!"

   Todd could practically feel the heat burning into his back from Anya's
doubtless glare of hate, and couldn't fight off the smallest urge to smile
at himself as he exited through the front door and left the house for
school.  This chalked as a genuine - if small - victory against his Russian
bitch of a stepmother.  She doubtless would run to his dad and demand he
have her back, which Tom most likely would if Anya teased the idea of
revoking all privileges to her body.  Todd would worry about it later. 
Whatever, he repeated to himself, just before replacing the thought of Anya
yelling at him, with a mental picture of her AND Miss Laveau sharing both
ends of his `white twelve inch cock' with both of their full lipped mouths.

   ...



   Anya White went about cleaning the kitchen wearing a rosy red face of
near rage.  She scrubbed at the small pile of white dishes with the
ferocity of someone who seemed more likely to break them than get them
clean.  The intensity of her scrubbing was so fierce it caused her pert
round bubble butt to giggle cutely in a small rhythm as result.  If it was
one thing the dark haired Russian hated, it was being dismissed.  Her
ingrate of a stepson Todd had done so BIG TIME this morning.  Storming off,
mocking her authority, defiant in every way possible.  But despite even her
frustration towards the boy, a part of her didn't hold him entirely to
blame for his behavior.  Anya's husband, Tom, had a very similar habit of
walking off haughtily after brushing off what she had to say.  The son had
seen the father treat her as such on numerous occasions, and - like most
young men - taken to mimicking the elder male's traits.  Both the White men
in her home just had to have the last word on everything, even if they were
dead wrong in the matter.







   Anya eventually (through some miracle) managed to finish the dishes
without reducing any to broken shards.  She went about picking up the
abandoned carton of milk Todd had left on the small island table in the
center of the kitchen, shaking it lightly in her hand and hearing the minor
dregs slosh about inside before throwing the article away.  Thereafter she
proceeded doing her daily chores around the house.  Anya's natural alarm
clock usually found her waking up at just after dawn.  It was a point of
evidence to show that Anya - even despite having long left her small native
town in Russia - was still an early riser.  A `doch iz Cherniderivo' to
this day, she thought, an inside joke that translated to `daughter of
Cherniderivo'.  Cherniderivo was the name of Anya's home town.



   Cherniderivo was a small (emphasis on small) farming community located
in the rural lands of Eastern Europe.  More secluded and far situated
compared to even the scarce arctic denizens of Verkhoyansk of the Sakha
Republic, Cherniderivo maintained a population no larger than 1200 people.
Anya had figured the population size hadn't changed much since her
departure to America several years ago.  A `daughter of Cherniderivo' was
the endearing nickname given to most of the young women in her town.  From
early on in her youth, Anya, along with her two sisters - Katerina her
elder, and Sonya, her younger - had loved being called as such by their
town's elder women, or (the slightly less formal term) `babushkas'.



   As Anya went about cleaning the White home with a mix of speed and an
almost supernatural efficiency, she drifted back on her life before moving
to this hot southern town.  She recalled waking up with the first glimmers
of the sunrise to help her sisters tend the `kopobas' .  Feeding them,
tending their barn and so forth.  It was a grueling process, but one that
Anya reveled in doing in youth before going off to school.  Recalling that
and then comparing her morning routine to Todd's only reaffirmed her stout
hatred of the boy.



   "Get used to it!  Sleepkink in!  Anya grumbled to herself out loud while
scrubbing at the bits of grit and remnants of food that had been burned
into the stove by Todd the previous day.  "When I his age, I not even have
luxury of sleepink in.  Not even know what `sleepink in' meant" she
murmured to the ether.  Her ungrateful, rude little prick of a stepson
acted like the request of waking himself up at a decent hour was demanding
he cross the Alps bare-assed.  It was purely appalling how spoiled the boy
was.  American children had proven to be every bit as spoiled and bratty as
the babushkas back home had warned her they'd be.  Their puffed up
arrogance and whiny complaints towards anything resembling hard work, it
was enough to make Anya ill.



   She cleaned the kitchen, living room, bathroom and her bedroom to the
point of spotless.  Anya had made it a personal creed within the first few
weeks of living with Todd to never clean his room.  She completed all this
within just about an hour, leaving neither grit nor speck of dust in her
plush home.  As a housewife it came with the territory, and Anya was a
natural when it came to efficiency.



   When she was done, she went upstairs to her bedroom and stripped out of
her silk morning robe.  Now, when Anya White - formerly Anya Cherninov -
first arrived in Coxville, it daunted many of the native folk when Tom
first introduced her.  Though carrying a definite air of elsewhere European
origin that made her stand out, while looking at the curvy and very much
well-endowed Russian - ex-model Tom would beamingly add - one would never
have guessed the woman was an outsider.  Certainly women of beauty, grace,
elegance and mesmerizing physical prowess could be found in just about any
part of the modern world, but Anya's smooth surprisingly and surprisingly
mid-tanned skin, statuesque slim body frame, simply luscious curvy hips,
immaculately toned legs, flawless round bubble butt, gorgeous facial
features AND (last but definitely not least) symmetrically perfect round E
sized breasts made it hard to tell Anya was grown anywhere BUT Coxville
county.



   Tom's female friends beamed at her beauty, cooing with kindly phrases
like,



   "Oh my good lord Tom!  Now if she ain't just an angel straight from
heaven, I don't know what is!" and "You're gonna fit right in round these
parts sugar, I guarantee you that!  We'll have you speakin the language in
no time flat." All the while placing their hands appraisingly on her
shoulders and gently touching the cheeks of her face adoringly.

   Tom's male friends went about welcoming the woman with their own jovial
lines of,



   "Now if at any point you get tired of dealin with this old bum Tom here,
you feel free to give me a call, alright hon?", and usually came with an
accompanying wink and a (perhaps more than friendly) hand on the shoulder.



   "Sorry there Buddy", Tom would say in response, cutting in and wrapping
his arms around Anya's slim waist from behind, "This girl will be way too
taken care of to even give a joker like you a second thought."

   They'd all laugh, and by the look of them one would never even know Anya
wasn't from their small little nook town in the south.

   Naked, Anya was every bit a Coxville beauty as its own female natives
were.  Her body was a shapely flawless temple that would likely drive a
fair number of men in town in orgasm by just being in front of her bare
form, and - perhaps - adding a seductive line of < wanna fuck?  > in her
native tongue.  Her long inky black hair pooled to her back as she shed her
robe, and wafted lightly as she slid on a white tight fitting sports bra
and a matching pair of yoga pants.



   This was the part of the morning that Anya lived for.  Her own
efficiency in housekeeping, along with her habit of rising early each day
gave her a huge expanse of free time during the day.  During that time,
Anya would put in work on maintaining her devastatingly sexy figure. 
Jogging typically proved enough to keep the Russian beauty in shape, as
cardio came standard with most endeavors back home in Cherniderivo, and had
kept her lean most of her life.  When her spirit wasn't in the jogging sort
of mood (or simply not up to being ogled by the local men folk in the
neighborhood) she'd stay in and engage in a relaxing, though rigorous,
morning yoga workout.  Grabbing her purple yoga mat, Anya would head back
downstairs to the spacious and brightly sunlit living room.



   There she would engage in a wide variety of long stretching poses.  Her
arms lengthened out before her whilst standing with her body angled in a
warrior's pose.  Her left and right legs stretched wide in the air whilst
balancing herself on the balls and arches of her feet.  Anya bent on all
fours in the table, cat, cow and sunbird poses respectively.



   Anya rather enjoyed going through these particular motions.  She'd
noticed in the past the effect her pert round ass and cleavage of her large
beautiful breasts had on others when she was involved with a group of yoga
practioners at the local Olympian gym, and - while not openly accepting of
the attention - enjoyed seeing the jaws of onlookers drop at her perfect
form.  Anya sometimes went to the Olympian with her good friend Sammy
Spitzmen, who was a certified health nut by Anya's decree (along with
everyone else who knew the lively red head).  Sammy had tried on several
occasions to get Anya to join her in her intense physical workouts, but
Anya - forgoing the threat of being called dainty by the energetic ginger -
declined, choosing instead the peaceful but trying endeavors of stretching
and contorting her body.  The dark haired beauty turned out to be a natural
at the art.  The instructor of the class had to give her only minimal
instruction after only her second session, and Anya herself soon discovered
that she was naturally very flexible.



   Before she knew it, she was taking on advanced positions and poses as
though it were light work.  Both her legs spread wide in the splits of a
seated angle pose, her flexibility allowing her stomach could touch the mat
in front of her.  It was ability that the male members in her class were
very much enamored and appreciative of and the less astute women in
class...well...not so much.



   Anya breathed in an out as she shaped her body into the caterpillar
pose; a position of her lying face down, with her ass curled up as high as
possible towards the sky.  She breathed in when stretching her body out
into a long lithe curve in the cobra shape; where her lower body was strewn
straight while her upper body was tilted upwards, her bountiful chest being
pressed together hard between her evenly placed arms.  And she breathed out
while holding a long stance of - her class's favorite - downward dog.  Anya
loved yoga, the feeling of her muscles being stretched and tightened was
bliss to her body.  She went about this and an array of other poses until
she'd built up a good sweat.  When she finally finished about an hour or so
later, she strode back upstairs with her mat, stripped out of her pants and
now damp sports bra, and hopped into her large bathtub for a long luxurious
shower.



   The hot beads of water beat of her taut mid-tanned skin.  She lavished
in the heat and steam, all but forgetting the day's earlier unpleasantness
with her creep of a stepson.  As warm water trailed down her skin, bits of
water hitting and teasing her tightly budded pink nipples, Anya couldn't
shake the feeling of being incredibly horny.  I should have fucked Tom this
morning, she thought.  Anya and her husband Tom had sex on a fairly regular
basis.  More often than not she would awaken her brown haired hubby with a
sultry bit of `come hither' talk in Russian.  she would say, < Good morning
dear husband >, < Rise and Shine > she'd tease into his ear.  < Uh oh! 
Well, it looks like a part of you is wide awake > she'd coo, gently pulling
at the throbbing meat of the man's morning wood underneath the covers.



   She'd then climb atop her husband, and go about riding him with a skill
that seemed almost superhuman at times.  Cherniderivo had a strong
horseback riding culture.  One that Anya had taken part in since she was a
little girl, and was still putting to good use as a married woman of
twenty-seven years old.  It never took long for Tom to cum.  A few quick
pumps and a couple hard grinding motions from the sexy Russian vixen, and
Tom would squirm underneath her in a throaty moan of pleasure.  He'd spasm,
and she'd feel the few sparse drops of semen into her, and then she'd feel
the five hard inches of his erection soften and subside from her hot
insides.



   It never came close to getting Anya off physically, but the idea of
knowing she had her man wrapped around her finger in the bedroom filled her
a significant degree of confidence.  < Well, it feels like you enjoyed that
> she'd always say after ending him, and then rolling off her husband to
start the day.  Anya herself would never come until sometime after.  They'd
skipped this early morning romp this morning, and it left Anya feeling just
a bit ill at ease.  Like she had let something in her morning routine
unfinished.  Afterwards she had completed her yoga session and made herself
good and sweaty.



   Sliding two fingers into her smooth hairless pussy, Anya went to work on
herself in the shower.  She silently rubbed and prodded herself, her
bathroom and bedroom door wide open.  Noone was home, Tom and Todd would be
gone for hours, so she was free to enjoy this small bit of exposure.  Now,
Anya might have been perceived as a bit odd from her fellow Coxvillian
women for this next fact.  But when Anya masturbated, it was never to the
thought of other people.  Conversation with her friends Jenny, Ivana, Sammy
and - hell - even Bianca had proven to the dark Russian that typically
women had images of fanaticized partners.  She recalled Sammy confessing to
inappropriate fantasies about a certain young male pop singer,



   "If that boy were a few years older...hmmmhm!" she giggle.

   Anya recalled her other girlfriend Ivana Swallows confessing to having a
number of imaginary trysts with a particular handsome actor.  She couldn't
recall the name, Bradly -something-or-other.  Even Anya's closest friend
Bianca had cited as such in a murmured tone.  Anya however stood aside from
this practice.  She instead fanaticized about her yoga sessions.  She'd
recall the feeling of her muscles being stretched and pulled passed normal
in the caterpillar position.  She'd pause on the feeling and sensations of
being bent over, and tease herself with the desire to be manhandled by...no
one with any distinguishing features.  The self-image of Anya in downward
dog had always filled her with a near ravenous desire to be filled up.



   In the confines of her dreams and fantasies, she'd be naked on her yoga
mat, in any number of the more...suggestive yoga positions.  She'd execute
the poses in waiting for...something...someone to take her.  Her taut
bubble butt propped up high into the air in anticipation to be entered, to
be filled up...what was the expression she'd heard?  Filled up...balls
deep? The phrase made her moist as she slid her fingers deeper into
herself. Her fantasies had no active figure, no sexual archetype for her to
coast to an orgasm...not until recently that is.  Recently, Anya suddenly
found her once vacant wet-dreams to be a bit more populated.  When she
fantacized about being naked in the catapillar position now, her desire to
be filled up were more than answered.  A nameless, faceless figure - most
definitely a man - would then enter.



   He'd grab both sides of her hips with two huge strong hands, and hold
her in place as he slid the fat head of what had to have been the hugest
penis Anya could ever conceive existed on a man.  The fantasy would
continue with the anonymous stranger pushing an incredible number of fat
veiny inches into her, her face strained and panting from the trial while
she moaned and writhed uncontrollably in Russian, < IT'S SOOO GOOD!  IT'S
GOING SOOOO DEEP!  > And the man -- no distinguishing characteristics at
all to be seen of him in the darkness -- would reply (in Russian) < Balls
and all my dear, balls and ALL!  > as he shoved the remainder of his
inhumanly hung monster cock into her begging wet snatch.



   That caused Anya to squeal on her feet in the shower, as a cascade of
pleasure fell over her as though mixed with the hot water.  Her legs
quivered so hard she had to hold herself up using one of the rails of the
shower's interior.  For a full two minutes Anya stood shaking, rocked by
her own fingers and the memory of her anonymous shaded lover.  When she
finally calmed down, she exhaled deeply,



   "Bozhe moi!" she sighed.

   Anya would have the intense encounter in her mind for some time after
she'd finish showering.  Easily it was the most intense one she'd had yet.
She'd noticed they'd been getting progressively more and more pleasurable
in recent days, but...that had to have been the greatest one yet!  Anya
dried herself off slowly in the bathroom, almost in a trance at what had
transpired.  The greatest orgasm she'd had in...well...ever...and she
didn't even have a face to reference the triumph to.  All Anya had to her
name in recollection of the otherworldly affair...was the large mass of
pitch black shadow making up her lover's strong mysterious and almost
supernaturally perfect form, and the intense satisfaction of her nameless
lover's massive phantasmal cock venturing deep (balls deep) into her...

   ...







   "So, how bangin we talkin?" This was the question Stubby - a short,
squat and very muscular young black man - asked while slightly hovering
over his friend and football mate LD on the bench press plank.



   "BANGIN!" LD grunted, loud and terse in reply.  LD's arms went up with
the weighted bar of 120 plus pounds attached.  His reply came as a rough
exhale, his nostrils flaring, while he lifted the bar high above his chest,
with Stubby spotting him just above.  LD was basically the polar physical
opposite of Stubby.  At well over six feet tall, his limbs and torso long
and lined with nothing but lean muscle, the pair looked almost comical as
they went about lifting weights in the Coxville high gym, the short bald
negro spotting the taller one.  One looking like he'd been stretched
lengthwise at birth, and the other looking he'd been compressed in
opposition of the former.



   "Well how bangin is bangin nigga?  Don't leave a brutha in suspense,
shit." Stubby was (still) prodding LD for details.  Asking questions about
what he'd seen the previous evening.  Stubby was LD's boy, no doubt about
that...but whenever he got to asking questions, wanting play-by-play
details of any account or story, LD could never ignore the base urge to
just sock him dead center on his shiny bald head with everything he had.

   LD (Leroy being his birth name, the initials for his nickname Long Dong)
barked in annoyance as he let the heavy bar fall close to his chest, and
grunted hard as he lifted it up again.  He'd been so caught up in trying to
ward off Stubby's barrage of stupid questions with short breaths for
answers that he'd forgotten what number rep he was on.  Letting the bar
settle back onto the weight guard with a loud metallic clank LD sighed and
rose from the bench in a frustrated huff, marking the action with,



   "Damn nigga!  You oughtta be a cop wit tha way you grill mu'phuckas.  I
fu'got what number I was fuckin on tryin to talk to yo gossipin ass!"



   "My bad bro" replied Stubby smoothly, turning on his joker's charm to
settle the taller - often irritable looking - negro.  "But damn, you can't
jus sit up der and tell a nigga someum like dat and then clam up an shit.
Dat's just fucked up."



   LD wiped at the shiny beads of sweat that had formed on his brow and
forehead.  The two young men had been making a habit of going as hard as
possible during their gym period.  To give Stubby an answer, LD replied
with,



   "Kerry Washington's face, Haley Berry's hair, Megan Good's dick suckin
lips, Mel B's frame and Bubble's ass my nigga.  THAT kinda bangin!" LD
enumerated without a break or single stutter in speech.



   "Damn..." replied Stubby, impressed and taken aback by the answer.



   "Yeah, damn is right."



   "And she was leavin tha twerp's crib?" The `twerp' that Stubby spoke of,
was none other than Coxville High's own shrimp, Melvin.



   Melvin lived next door to LD, and they had been neighbors since
childhood.  In a strange silent way, the two boys were close.  If asked by
anyone, both youths would cite each other as being the furthest thing from
best buddies.  LD's well known status as a ball player and Melvin's as a
hardcore book nerd wouldn't allow such a friendship in the eyes of their
peers.  But - unlike most of the jocks in school who heckled and terrorized
the nerd - LD would make it a point to give the little nigga an idle nod
every now and again when passing one another in the hallways.  More than
once LD had saved the much shorter, much skinnier youth from being dunked
headfirst into one of the toilet bowls.  LD didn't have much (really ANY)
love for science and English.  He didn't have much respect for anything not
involving sports, weed and bitches (of course) for that matter.  However he
did have a kind of quiet respect for Melvin's intellect.  He knew that
Melvin would eventually go on to do amazing things if given the
opportunity. That and (perhaps), a mutual understanding in having absentee
fathers.



   Leroy Senior, a man of rather notable infamy in the town of Coxville,
had bailed on LD when he was very young, leaving him to be raised by his
less than amiable alcoholic mother.  LD had plans of tracking down the
mothafucker one day.  Not to challenge him to a fist fight, but to beat him
at his own game in the porn business, which is what (last he'd heard and
seen) his father was into (DEEP) these days.  Melvin had been in a much
similar position, though there was no word or knowledge on who his father
was at all.  That fact, in its own way, bonded the two youths.  And while
LD was more often than not perceived as the tall giant with the menacing
disposition by his mates, he never exercised his intimidating presence
against the little brown bookworm.

   ...



   The previous evening, as LD had recounted to Stubby, he'd seen a woman
exiting Melvin's home as he returned from football practice.  The session
had been exhausting; Coach Black had been in rare form that day with the
relentlessness of his drills.  LD's feet drug on the grass as though they
were made of cement as he crossed his almost tragically unkempt lawn. 
Exhaustion aside, that hadn't kept him from texting his (current) main
bitch, Susan Dupree.  LD's mom wouldn't be home for hours (likely out
drinking and slutting around the Westside) and he was planning on having
Susan roll by that night for a much needed `pick-me-up' fuck after a long
day of practice.  Susan tried to act snotty about it at first, tersely
telling him No!  That she had tons of material to study for AP tests, not
to mention cheer practice, and all the while lacing her rejections with
racial epithets to offend him into stop asking.



   It had the opposite effect on the tall negro of course.  He absolutely
LOVED it when Susan said dirty racist shit like that.  The sexy brown
haired white girl, with her bookish round rimmed glasses and prim exterior,
certainly had a mouth on her.  It made the act of punishing her tight white
ass and hot pink pussy all the more invigorating in his eyes.  And got DAMN
if that girl couldn't go hard on some nigger dick.  The girl sucked and
fucked like she had something to prove, and had a tight tanned body that
was more than built for the task.  Eventually, Susan caved, unable to stave
off LD's advances any longer.  She'd be over later, and LD would put that
ass, pussy and dirty mouth of hers through the ringer.



   As he walked, his anticipatory joy was interrupted when he saw a
woman...no...a bona fide goddess, a nubian sex fantasy made flesh, stepping
out onto Melvin's front porch.  From the illuminated porch light, LD got a
good look at her.  Even LD's breakdown to Stubby hadn't quite done the
brown skinned beauty justice in description.  Flawless skin, a super taut
waist, big ol' round breasts that'd make a nigga beg for just one taste,
and a bubble ass and set of thick thighs and toned legs that simply
couldn't fail to make a man cum under any circumstances.



   Melvin and his short round faced mother soon exited behind the gorgeous
cinnamon honey.  She was dressed in a fancy and very professional looking
skirt, blouse and heels...and STILL somehow made it look pinup worthy.  LD
couldn't quite make out the conversation, for he was too far away from them
and too near his own porch.  The tone seemed jovial however.  Happy and -
actually - pretty excited from the ecstatic smile Melvin was giving the
woman.  Granted, Melvin smiled that same dopey smile whenever ANY woman
aside from his mama was talking to him.  Those squinty eyes that sat behind
his dorky thick ass glasses, and that odd curl of his big black lips to
reveal his teeth, made him look like a gecko trying to cheese for a camera
shot.  His haircut reminding him of that one black super-nerd from that one
black TV sitcom LD had always hated.

   Melvin's mom just stood there and smiled brightly at her son, who held
in his hand some kind of...envelope, a letter of some kind by the look of
it.  LD wasn't far enough way to not be able to make out the dark waxen
seal on the side of letter.



   The tall negro slowed his pace to a snail's crawl, and stilled so that
he might make out what was being said amongst the trio.  Faking a show of
looking for keys and making them seem misplaced.  He only heard bits and
pieces.



   "So delighted..." said Melvin's mother in her rich and pleasant voice.



   "Honored" squeaked Melvin.



   "Oh, the honor is all ours" Said the sexy sista in a voice that made a
nigga's nuts buzz.  "Having you there is going to make it..."
something...LD couldn't quite make it out over the sound of a dog barking
in the distance.  "I'm certain Mr.Broo--"LD couldn't make out the name
because of a passing car driving by, loud bass bumping a chorus refrain of,
"YA CALL THE WRECKER!!" echoing from a nearby vehicle as it sped down the
street.



   "Eight sharp" was all LD heard by the time the car drove out of earshot.



   "Looking forward to it!" Melvin said in his nasally scratch of voice.

   After that it was all handshakes and - no - a handshake and a hug?  The
fine ass sista actually leaned in and hugged the little twerp.  She pulled
Melvin to her and wrapped an arm around him.  She even made that little
motion women make when hugging someone they're fond of; the one that always
reminded LD of some kind of bird, where the woman cocks one leg up behind
them and arches her back and shit.  The sight was bizarre.  It was made
even stranger by the outburst of laughter (if you could call it that) that
came from the thick-spectacled little dweeb.  That nasally, wheezy little
laugh of his; he he he he!  The one that always grated everybody's nerves
and made the fish stop swimming.



   After that it was just a cordial exchange of goodbyes, and Melvin and
his mom went back into their house.  LD was left outside, with the hottie
walking off in the opposite direction towards - what LD hadn't even noticed
until that point - the black car that was sitting on the sidewalk in front
of the twerp's house.  LD hadn't even seen it until he caught the motion of
its passenger door swing open.  The vehicle almost blended into the night
as though it were camouflaged it was so black.  LD couldn't make out anyone
else in the car, because the windows were tinted.  He knew someone else
must have been sitting in the car however, because the door had swung open
from the inside.  And, on a very strange unspoken level...he somehow knew
that the person/s inside the car saw him...and were currently watching
him...

   The fuck is goin on, thought LD.  It was almost eerie when, at that
moment, the woman looked his way.  If LD hadn't known any better, he'd have
sworn the black beauty had somehow...what, heard his thoughts?  ESP style
or some shit.  It didn't unsettle him as much when - before sliding her
stunning body into the black car - the woman looked LD dead in the eyes,
and from far away shot him the brightest and (perhaps) just a bit
mischievous smiles the tall negro had ever seen.  It immediately sent a
shock up his spine, and instantly his cock started getting hard.  He was
called LD for a reason, and this stunning sista had made him grow a third
leg with just a smile!  Then, in what seemed like a strange second
stretched out to a lifetime, the black Sedan came to life in a subtle jerk,
its front headlights popping into existence.  The car then slowly pulled
away from the sidewalk, shifting onto the street and in the direction of
uptown - where all the crackers lived LD noted - likely off to continue the
woman, driver and any other mysterious passenger's unknowable work.  The
mysterious woman would stay on LD's mind for some time after.  The hard-on
she'd left him with would get put to GOOD use on Susan Dupree (for hours)
later that night...





   ...



   "Tha fuck outta here!" Stubby replied after LD had finished his story.
"You shittin me."



   "Word is bond ma nigga, dats exactly how it went down."



   "So, this bomb ass bitch was at the twerp's crib, handin him some kind
of what...letter?



   "Invite maybe?" proposed LD.



   "That don't make no sense."



   "Why not?"



   "Why would that bitch give him a letter, if she coulda jus hit him up on
tha phone and shit?  Don't dat strike you a kinda weird?  Not to mention
dated?  Who hand deliver's letter like dat these days?



   "Yeah, but dats how I saw it man, swear to you.  And she was all cozy
wit him and shit too, like she was congratulatin him or somethin."



   "If she as fine as you say she is, shit, I almost wanna congratulate the
little nigga.  Dat musta been the closest he got to a titty since his momma
was breast feedin him.  Even if it is all bullshit."



   "It ain't bullshit my dude" said LD,



   "Yeah..." replied Stubby, skepticism saturating his tone.



   "He's not lying..." came a meeker voice from one of the far ends of the
gym.

   Stubby and LD turned abruptly, somewhat startled at the new voice
inserting itself into the conversation.  Their brief spike of tension
relaxed the minute their eyes settled on the voice's source.



   "Oh shit!" said Stubby in a sarcastically excited mock cheer, "White Hot
Hands!  didn't see you there my dude!"

   White Hot Hands...that was the new nickname for Todd White this week,
instead of Cap'n.  It bit at him so hard he couldn't even manage to finish
the rep he'd started with the dumb bell.  He let it fall to the floor with
a loud whack!

   "Fuck you Stubs!" replied Todd, standing to his feet and moving towards
the pair (no real intention to fight either of them however).  He'd gotten
real sick of the guys taunting him.  The black players on the team had made
this routine, and worked everyone up into such a frenzy of insults that now
Todd was even getting shit from some of the white players who invariably
had his back.  This new joke on his name was the last straw.  One pass, ONE
lousy pass and the team was running him into the ground over it.  In Todd's
mind he really knew it was more like two or three lousy passes, but hey,
human was only human.



   "You that hard up and dry for sex nigga?" replied Stubby mockingly,
"After what I heard bout Pam droppin tha bomb on yo ass by text, I guess
you would be up fo just bout anythin bout now, huh son?  She gave you dat
DIGITAL curb kickin my dude!"



   Stubby then burst out into a loud obnoxious cackle, head thrown back and
hands holding his bare ripped stomach.  Todd's teeth clenched along with
his fists.



   "Stubbs!" came the booming voice of LD next to him, and the squat
negro's laughter immediately went silent.  "Shut tha fuck up already, you
makin my eardrums ache, nigga!"



   "Awww come on bro" replied Stubby in the makings of a pout, "I jus
playin wit his soft ass."



   "Dats yo damn problem, you always playin and shit.  S'why yo ass is
always bringin up ass on the field!"

   That wiped the smirk off Stubby's face altogether.



   "Damn man..." replied Stubs, openly hurt at the attack but trying to
press it down with his smooth facade.  "Niggas wanna catch feelins for
nothin in this mu'phucka..." he half murmured and only sort of whimpered to
himself as he walked off to the bench press plank, not asking anyone to
spot him.  "Thought dis was supposed to be a gym, but they ain't NO
testosterone in SIGHT in this muphuck--"



   "Whatchu know bout old girl T?" asked LD.



   "Miss Laveau?"

   Damn, White Hot Hands knows her name?  Thought LD, a smidge of jealousy
prodding at his chest.



   "You mean aside from being the hottest black chick I've ever seen?"

   At this LD actually had to chuckle a bit.  "You couldn't even begin to
handle any of that brown sugar, par."



   "Maybe not..." replied Todd, "But for a piece of that I'd go down
swingin." Todd smirked back, remembering his fantasy of having Adela Laveau
ride his imaginary twelve inch cock like she wanted to break it off.

   LD laughed again, this time louder.  He couldn't say he liked Todd, nor
could he say he even really respected him.  That 'all-American' white boy
swagger he always tried strutting about school and on the field made him
sick.  Crackers always trying to walk with swag like they own it, but
always looking to niggas low key to teach them what's what.  But he had to
admit, the newly appointed bench warmer was good for a laugh from time to
time.



   "Yeah...now dey swappin giggles an shit..." grunted Stubs bitterly in
the background, lifting the weight with a concentrated grunt.



   "She was at my house just the other day.  Gave my old man an invite to
some kind of fancy party."



   "Party?"



   "Yeah man, some get together that's supposed to happen at the end of the
week."



   "No shit?  Where at?



   "That new guy's place.  You know, that rich guy...Brooks."

   Brooks.  That was the name the hottie - miss Laveau LD now knew -
dropped at Melvin's house.



   "You said that Miss Laveau invited Melvin?" asked Todd.



   "Yeah..." LD said, curious now as to who exactly this Brooks mothafucker
was.



   "Weird..." Todd replied.



   "What's weird?"



   "Well...Miss Laveau said the party was only supposed to be for adults.
At least, that was what my cunt stepmom said..."



   "How is yo fine ass stepmama's cunt doin these days T?" jeered Stubby
from the background, lowering the bar down to his tight chiseled chest. 
"Pa-pa STILL ain't hittin that shit right, huh?  Send her my way, I'll sort
that pussy waaay ou-"



   "Stubs!" LD called out, warning the short negro to pipe down without
even looking at him.  Stubs immediately went back to his reps in silence.



   "Anyway, Miss Laveau said it too.  That the party was supposed to be for
adults only."



   It only sort of left LD confused.  Melvin, though a dork and totally
immune to anything even remotely involving cool, was rather mature for his
age.  Socially awkward, with bitches being his prime fear...but mature.



   "Sounds it was just some kind of boring meet and greet for all the rich
and important folks in town.  My dad and that bitch are going.  I just
think it's kinda weird they'd invite Melvin."



   "Why's dat?" LD, the tone of his voice suddenly sounding
confrontational. "A nigga ain't good enough to be in the same room wit you
boushie crackas?"



   "I didn't say that..." replied Todd, not out loud at least, he thought.



   "The twerp probably got a pass for being all brainy and shit.  Little
nigga aces AP classes easier than it is for Stubs to get mu'phucka's
nerves."



   "Fuck you nigga!" grunted Stubby in the background.

   Just then the conversation was broken yet again by the sound of another
loud CLACK sound.  An incredibly heavy weight had been dropped on the
opposite end of the gym.



   "What cha'll females cluckin bout?" The deep bass voice of Deon came up
like a clap of thunder in the room.

   The hulkish dark skinned brutha came from behind a small set of weight
lifting equipment.  Deon was taller than Stubbs, but significantly shorter
than LD, making him about Todd's height.  The comparison between Todd and
Deon however ended there.  Deon had short black hair and a very wide deep
brown frame.  Previously Deon had been the fattest guy on the team, a fact
that Coach Black continuously hazed the boy on.  It got so bad -- Black's
antagonizing so blunt and harsh -- that Deon took to the gym and football
training harder than almost all the others these days.  Where before Deon
had a large round gut, chubby cheeks and big undefined thighs, he now
sported; a slightly smaller and trimmed gut, a less round face - his cheek
bones now more apparent than before - and arms and shoulders that should
have been attached to a giant.  His biceps were huge and well defined, and
his chest had turned from the soft mass of man-boobs to the hard slopes of
pecks.  The negro's transformation had been shocking.  LD - who didn't seem
fazed by anything behind his dark sunglasses - even had to do a double
take. Deon, slowly but surely, was turning into a beast!



   "Yo, Dough Boy!" Called Stubby, not so quick to drop the insulting terms
used on his teammate as he set the weight back on the bench press guard.

   Deon just glared at him as he approached.  Jesus, why are all niggers so
damn big, thought Todd, just now taking in the fact he was now surrounded
by three, (count em') THREE buff black guys!  One way taller than him,
another almost twice his size, and the one that was actually shorter than
him almost entirely being comprised of muscle.  That alone considered, he
didn't want to look them in the eye anymore, but all the same he didn't
want to point his head down, out of fear of catching sight of...other
things...that the three negroes had on them.



   "Fuck you Stubbs..." Said Deon plainly.  "Ya'll talkin bout that
mu'phucka Brooks?"



   "Yeah" said Todd, after clearing his throat and pressing down whatever
nervousness sat in it.



   "Whatchu know about him D?" asked LD.



   "Not a whole lot...side from the fact the niggas loaded, AND a total
sellout..."

   *****

   In the early afternoon hours, Anya White was on both knees in a dim
corner of her houses' cluttered attic.  A strain of annoyance and effort
was slashed across the edges of her mouth as she pulled, plucked and tugged
and tilted at the large brown cardboard box that sat in front of her.  Dust
sat on almost every surface, and particles of it could be seen in the rays
of sunlight that shot in from the triangular window positioned on the
middle wall of the gable.  Once again that day, she was annoyed by her brat
of a step-son Todd.  Wearing a simple pair of tight fitting blue jeans and
a plain black t shirt - both of which still somehow managed to give Anya's
curves and large round breasts a seductive amount of display from their
tight fit -- she went about tearing and pulling at the thick strips of tape
that kept the battered and hard used box sealed.



   Her eyes furrowed with effort as she carefully tried peeling a
particularly stubborn edge of tape on the box, wanting to pry the solid
side open without tearing the actual cardboard.  Anya had no clue what was
inside, and didn't want to risk damaging anything.  It was a total pain in
Anya's ass having to do this.  It had taken her the better part thirty
minutes just navigating through the mass of compounded disorder just to
find the one box she'd been looking for.



   It was only through the distinguishing note of < For Anya, Do Not Touch!
> written in bold red marker and scrawled along the box's side in Russian
that she was even able to find it.  It was nestled between an older looking
box of photos and clothes that Tom had hastily thrown in some time before.
Todd was the one who was supposed to have been up here, navigating through
and organizing the seemingly endless array of scattered items and cobweb
covered boxes that made up the wide upper space.  It was supposed to have
been his job to find the box she was now sitting on her knees before, and
thereafter he was instructed to bring it to her.  In his defiance he'd
managed to worm his way out of doing this chore on more than several
occasions, the reason always falling to one prior engagement or another. 
Anya hated dust, and hated having to sneeze and trudge her way through it
on account of her step-son even more.



   Her slim and delicate fingers yanked at the thick strips of tape, long
coiling noises and sounds of tearing cardboard echoed in the dry dusty
space as she pulled and tilted at the piece.



   "< Pain in the ass... >" cursed Anya in Russian.

   The box itself had been closed and doubly sealed with extra tape in
order to survive Anya's trip to the States.  Anya hadn't been the one to
pack or seal this item, and judging from its state it had been doubly
reinforced on purpose rather than by sheer paranoia on the sealer's part.
It should be said again, Anya had never seen the contents of the box.  Her
reason for finding and opening it was lead more through curiosity than
anything else.  It had been sitting in the attic for months now, gathering
dust and remaining an extra unassuming piece of forgotten property in the
White home.  If it weren't so difficult to unseal, the amount of tape that
kept the box closed would have comical.  You'd think she was hiding family
jewels in this thing, Anya thought.  Anya had received the box from her
mother just moments before she had made her move to Coxville and her cozy
suburban home.  Anya's mother - Katya Cherninov - had given the wide brown
thing to her daughter in an almost hushed and underhanded manner as she
loaded her few belongings and single suitcase into the summoned taxi cab.



   Anya had been beaming with excitement that day.  Oblivious then to how
much of a defiant pest Todd - her then soon-to-be stepson - was, and having
no clue as to how thoroughly underwhelming her new husband Tom would prove
to be in bed later on.  When Anya asked her mother what the box contained,
and gave her initial protest against taking such an ugly and bulky item
with her, mother Katya simply shushed her with a clipped, , and then told
her in an even quieter tone during their goodbyes, that it was something
special.  A set of items and heirlooms that Anya - as the eldest Cherninov
daughter - was entitled to have and was therefore given just before her
departure for America.



   "< Open it when you arrive to your new home, and make sure no one who
can read Russian ever sees it.  No one besides you!  >"

   Her mother leaned in close to her daughter and told her this in a quiet,
almost covert, tone.  All the while Anya's father stood by, oblivious to
the exchange as he had been too busy trying to hide his sulking demeanor
through idle small-talk with the cab driver.  Anya's two sisters, Sonya and
Katerina stood a ways behind and watched Anya and their mother talk from
the front porch of their gray wood home, which - like most homes in
Cherniderivo - looked like a slightly more modernized cabin.

   Anya's father, Alexei Cherninov, had not at all approved of Anya's
decision to move to the US and marrying - as he put it - `some faceless
American'.  When Anya showed her father Tom's picture to disprove the
argument of her new husband being `faceless', Alexei went on to exclaim how
her choice was going against the wishes he'd had for his eldest daughter.
He'd always fashioned the idea that Anya would marry a nice, young, Russian
man from town, and settle down in Cherniderivo to bear him a slew of
gorgeous, `< pure Russian >' grandchildren.



   He'd huffed and puffed and protested Anya's perceived rebellion against
his wishes, warned her that the `< wrong element teemed in droves in that
corrupt country >', so on and so forth.  Ultimately though, Anya won the
debate after displaying -- with much verve and finality -- that he had two
daughters left, both of them just as beautiful, and who could fulfill his
desperate wish to have pure Russian grandchildren.  The fact Tom had gone
so far as to take care of all the necessary paperwork and funds needed for
Anya's citizenship, as well as pay for her trip to America - first class -
hinted heavily that the American would be able to provide for his daughter.
It was difficult for Alexei to rebuke that argument.  Anya's mother had
remained silent during the exchange.  And later Anya had found her mother's
uncharacteristically secretive tone to be amusing as she tried secretly
shifting this big cumbersome box into the trunk of the cab.



   "< Mother, what are you playing at?  I don't want to take this big ugly
thing with me to America.  My new husband will think I'm a pack rat or
something.  >" she replied, a girlish pout forming on her cheeks.



   "< Tell your new husband it's just a box of family heirlooms that you've
inherited from your mother and grandmothers.  It won't be a lie, so you'll
have no reason to feel guilty.  >"



   "< Mother... >" half-whined Anya.  Why would I feel guilty, Anya had
asked herself, but chose to press the question down in favor of her budding
excitement to travel.



   "< Trust me child, this is tradition.  And I won't let America's glamour
get in the way of family tradition.  I don't care how rich he is.  Take the
box.  Open it when you can, and share it with NO ONE who reads Russian.  >"

   That last bit echoed of a particular importance to Anya's mother.

   "< I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think there are too many people
who speak or read Russian where I'm going mother.  >"

   With an idle wave of her hand, Anya's mother replied,



   "< It's America.  You never know who knows what or who is from where
over there.  Caution is always better when walking into the unknown.  >"
Katya exclaimed, waving a finger while reciting what she felt to be a
sage's counsel.

   Katya looked exactly like Anya, if aged by a score or so of years. 
Despite the onset of wrinkles on her face and crow's feet near the edges of
her eyes, and the sparse few gray hairs forming around her temples, Katya
Cherninov still held all the radiance, beauty and elegance of her youth
that had made her a knockout in Cherniderivo during her earlier years.  Her
body carried the same curvaceous appeal of her daughter, with the added
weight and oncoming softness of age in certain areas only making her appear
more voluptuous than old.



   Anya's two sisters in turn both carried the beauty and endowments of
their mother.  Katerina, the second Cherninov daughter, was tall and lean
like her father, but had the statuesque facial features and raven hair of
her mother, while Sonya - the youngest of the Cherninov girls - was short,
had her father's thick auburn hair, and had a slightly more stocky frame
that toted more curves than either of her sisters.  Both Cherninov girls
had impressive chests, with Sonya carrying the second largest pair (her
mother Katya coming in first place).  Even in their modest dark colored
dresses, their endowments bloomed and curved from underneath the fabric and
never failed leaving many of the local boys with hidden rock hard erects.



   Neither one of the sisters spoke to Anya in any great detail on the day
she left for America, but they had secretly given her their blessing and
approval the day before her departure.  To a less subtle degree, Anya's
mother had also given her daughter her blessing.  Her reason being the
number of opportunities in America far exceeded the ones Anya had in
Cherniderivo, a town which seemed to be perpetually trapped in the late
90s, when the rest of the world was well into the 2000s

   ...

   "< She's far too beautiful to stay cooped up in this little town
forever. >" was what Katya had told her husband.  "< American women with
half her looks become famous for a fraction of the hard work she's done in
modeling.  Anya would do well out there, with a good husband and a home to
call her own.  She can't stay here messing about with your horses and
winning these small beauty contests Alexei.  >"

   Since childhood, Anya's beauty left many of the natives awe struck. 
She'd won various local pageants and beauty contests, and those victories
instilled in Anya a love for taking photos.  As it turned out, the camera
loved Anya more than she loved it, and over time a reputation formed around
the young Russian girl to frame her as something of a town celebrity.  This
reputation, and Anya's trademark beauty, only grew broader as she developed
into a full grown woman.  She became the face for almost every social
event, and was showcased in numerous - if meagerly produced - photo
productions involving the `highlights' of Cherniderivo, horse exhibitions
and farming events mostly.  Eventually the Russian community swore that -
if given the proper backing - Anya would take the greater modeling world
outside of their small nook by storm.  When Tom and she became acquainted
through an online dating service for foreign women and American men, and
learned the man's career resided in advertising, it felt like the
opportunity of a life time.



   "< I knew buying that blasted computer was a bad idea >", grumbled
Alexei when Anya finally came to him with her plan of moving to America. 
It was months of protesting filled with half-winded demands and threats to
try and talk his gorgeous daughter out of leaving before he finally threw
down arms and allowed her leave.



   "< Fine, you can go!  But be sure to stay in near-constant contact with
us!  You will call us at least once a week, and you will tell me everything
that goes on out there, EVERYTHING, understood?  >

   Those were the terms, and Anya joyously accepted.

   ...



   "< Do NOT tell your father about this.  >" Katya added.  "< Never
mention it in any letter or phone call you have with him, and again-- >"



   "< Do not show it to anyone who reads Russian.  I know, I know mother!
>", Anya cut off.

   Her father never learned of the exchange between her and her mother.



   After mother and daughter exchanged hugs and goodbyes, and father and
daughter exchanged luke-warm nods, Anya had departed in the cab, and made
her trek to America.  It was there she met -and weeks after married- Tom.
It was thereafter when she had her first encounter with Todd.  And it was
now, in the fine American town of Coxville USA, where she lived.  Her
modeling career had not taken off at quite the break-neck speed she had
expected it to.  Tom's earlier vow to take her to `the right people' who
would get her career started had fallen rather short in the first few
months of their marriage.  It wasn't a matter of Tom not being able to
provide those necessary contacts, as much as - from how it appeared to Anya
- Tom simply not wanting her to put her stunning looks and intoxicating
body on display for others and when not on his terms.  Tom absolutely loved
showing Anya off to family and friends.  Taking his newly purchased, raven
haired goddess to local barbeques was one thing.  Allowing her to pose in
any array of seductive little outfits to hundreds -no- thousands of people,
while jet-setting all of the country however, was a completely different
matter altogether.



   "The timing just isn't right right now honey" would be his usual reason
on why he'd refuse her going to a proposed photo shoot.

   Why the more acclaimed photographers of Coxville - who all but salivated
at the thought of getting Anya in front of camera - were rejected time and
again by her studious but ever-so-busy husband.  Anya, in one corner or
another in her mind, knew the real reason.  Tom simply didn't want to share
Anya with anyone else.  Like a spoiled child with a brand new toy, Tom was
more than content with keeping his Russian wife cooped up in his suburban
home.  Being a housewife gave Anya much time to think about such things. 
She'd often engage in other activities to take her mind off her
frustrations.  While perhaps stubborn and selfish, Anya did love Tom. 
Loved him as much as any Coxville or `doch iz Cherniderivo' could love her
husband.  So today's distraction, today's excuse of not demanding Tom
fulfill his promise of making her a world-class model, came in the form of
finally sating a looming curiosity towards what was in that damn brown box.



   Any had never taken it or her mother's warning seriously, and even when
she finally pried the final strip of tape off the box's top, a sharp sort
of skepticism sat on the edge of her tongue.



   "< Probably grandmother's old kitchen recipies... >" she snickered to
herself.

   The opened box revealed a mass of white cushion and packing foam. 
Really mother, this is overkill even for you, she thought as she dug
through the mass, scooping through the packing foam.  Anya however couldn't
completely deny a slight rush of excitement as she reached felt the flat
surface of something smooth at the bottom of a box.  It was that brace of
excitement, that held breath of anticipation that children felt while
tearing at the wraps of a Christmas present.  Anya lifted the smooth object
up, to find herself holding what looked like a book.  Indeed, a book
wrapped in smooth white packing paper.  Why did mother take so much care in
packing up one book, she thought.  As she tore at the packing paper, her
heartbeat quickened by half a pace.  What is this, she thought.  It
perplexed her when she finally saw the surface of the item; a very old,
very black plus sized book that - written across the face - read "< Journal
>" in elegant Russian.



   "< An old journal?  > said Anya out loud, her curiosity mounting at the
thought her mother would secretly smuggle an old dusty journal into her
belongings.

   As Anya opened the journal, a part of her tensed.  The old yellowed
pages revealed the writing to be in Russian.  Let no one who reads Russian
ever see it, Anya's mother had warned several times.  At the time, Anya had
thought her mother was simply handing her daughter down some kind of recipe
book of famed Cherniderivo meals, perhaps ones handed down from mother to
daughter in the Cherninov family.  But no, that wasn't the case with this
old thing.  Anya could immediately tell that the handwriting was a man's.
Bold drawn lines and masculine punctuations filled the page.  The fact the
first page readcertainly helped in Anya's deduction as well.  This book was
old, very old by the look of it.  And Anya was certain to keep her grip on
the book as gentle as possible when she began to read.

   ...

   < To my oldest friend Kostya,



   It is moments like this when I truly hate your and my brother's
perceived `sage-like' advice when it comes to making sizable life
decisions. You will notice my words to be scrawled in a rather hasty and
sloped manner.  As I write this letter, I teeter between an almost
overpowering nausea derived from the unending churn and sway of this
wretched sea, and an unwavering frustration with the man who is supposed to
be riding (can ships be ridden?) this accursed thing!  This loud and
maddeningly obnoxious American captain named - though my English is too
poor to confirm - Hughes, who is supposed to be sailing us on this venture.



   Da, the business venture you and my ambitious elder brother Nikolai keep
promising me time and again is certain coin in our pockets.  Weeks at sea,
weeks and what feels like worlds more, and still we've days yet ahead of
this incessant wet churning and sickeningly cold rocking until we finally
reach our destination.  Our travelled peers and elders did not warn us of
such repugnancies when bragging of their journeys at sea.  Though, I don't
know if my body would have been up to the ordeal even if I had been told in
advance.  The spittoon nestled at the bedside of my quarters sloshes full
with what I'd earlier consumed at the behest of our ship's portly and - at
times - all too jovial cook, as a stout reminder that man and sea indeed
were never meant to mingle!



   Though, admittedly and to be fair, I appear to stand alone in my
suffering.  My brother's step has not lost an inch of its usual bounce, nor
has his upbeat tambour in voice and demeanor wavered one bit since we set
sail.  He still wears the same cocky and ever-confident smile that we
detested as boys while racing up the hills and through the valleys of home.
And - admittedly - my dearest wife Inna has not shown even the slightest
signs of illness during the course our voyage.  Her gorgeous face has not
lost the slightest glimmer of its radiance or angelic beauty.  I swear to
you Kostya, the women of our beautiful Cherniderivo must be endowed with
the strength of Perun as well as being blessed with the beauty of Zaria. 
Da, just the other night in the swaying den of sickness our bastard of a
captain calls a `dining hall', my dear Inna put a slim and comforting warm
hand to my face.  She stared at me in shock at - what must have been - the
most alarming shade of green my face has turned yet on our journey.  Her
gorgeous mouth turned into an o of shock at my paler as I tried keeping
down the swill these Americans call stew and ale.



   There I was; green as an old frog, and there she sat next to me;
untouched by the terrible rocking of the ship and sea.  Fair skinned,
thoroughly untouched by the onslaught of motion from the ship and
altogether looking just as maddeningly gorgeous as the day I first laid
eyes on her.  It was a comfort I would trade for nothing in this world.  I
only hope that this wretched voyage ends soon.  Her comforts ease the
burden of travel, though I truly do pray the Zorias plant us firmly on dry
land sooner rather than later.  My brother - older though he may be -
maintains the boyish optimism that we will hit American soil within the
week.  I and our bastard of a captain are agreement on at least one thing;
that our voyage will take a fair share more time than that.



   I truly hope this ordeal is worth the effort Kostya.  The captain is the
only American I have ever encountered to any notable degree, and I must say
he is a most disagreeable fellow.  The few words of English I can
understand from him tend to be of the crassest nature, and invariably I
find his eyes lingering on the curves of Inna's dress and bosom to be most
vile.



   I have warned my brother that there will be grave consequences should
the bearded old fool find his hands anywhere near her when not on the wheel
of this accursed ship.  I understand my brother needs my expertise with
numbers and financial stratagem, but dragging myself and my wife all the
way to America - to this land of `Washington' as I believe it is called -
to negotiate the distribution and allocation of our fringe lands, is beyond
a daunting request.  My grave physical discomfort may be guiding my words,
but I truly do hope this voyage and the forthcoming negotiations with these
Americans is well worth it.  Cherniderivo's rich lands, even on the fringes
- in my personal opinion - would best be kept to Russia and its people. 
Let the fools on the other side of the field do what they will with Alaska,
but I say Cherniderivo was made for those who were born in it.  Lands made
for its people and its people alone!  Da, I already know what reply you
have prepared my old friend.  That `1855 should be the year Cherniderivo
takes its steps from our fields and traverses out into the broader world'.



   Da, change may indeed be necessary in a changing world, but I say - if
these Americans on the whole are anything like this Captain Hughes, you, my
brother, I and the rest of our people back home would better find ourselves
equipped if clinging to the bones of our ancestors.  All the same, I
prattle and profess unnecessarily.  As much as I may complain and voice
grievance, my sour disposition will not change the fact that - inevitably -
I am here, in the middle of the sea en route to this America.  You and my
brother's ambitious natures may be at odds with my cautious one, but if the
rough estimations from my brother is anything close to the proper mark, the
amount of coin we have to gain from selling the Americans some of
Cherniderivo's richlands would make us all near as wealthy as czar Nicholas
himself!  Da, a bold statement, and one I myself told my brother ranked no
higher than fiction.  But his conviction in the proposition seemed, and
continues to seem, so certain.  His confidence is only trumped by his
certainty that cutting these Americans the use of our borderlands would
bear nothing but profit for us all.  This ideal of wealth does not make my
own heart thunder out of desire for my own benefit, but for the benefit of
my dear Inna.



   I would love nothing more than to see her happy.  If I could see her
have the queen's life and trappings that she deserves, I could die a happy
man.  That is what drives me oldest friend, which is why I ultimately chose
to accept this task and climb aboard this wretched overgrown tugboat.  I
would wear the shade of a frog every day of the year if it meant feeling
Inna's warm and soft hand fall upon the way she did on the aforementioned
night.  Da, indeed I am blessed to call her mine old friend.



   All that said friend Kostya, this voyage is hell.  But my Inna and the
dream of making her happy, is keeping me going strong.  I will write more
when I am able, and hopefully this business will be concluded by the time
you read this letter.  Give the others my best, tell the babushkas to stop
filling the young girls heads with fantasy and mischief, and you keep our
lands tended.  If you and my brother are correct, they will be making us
all very very rich in due time.







   Warmest regards,



   Sergei >

   ...











   "Huh?" said LD, stating out loud what all the boys in the room were
thinking.



   "Yeah, dat nigga's mo white washed than Bryan Gumble, and twice as
nice."



   "Wait..." interrupted Todd.  "Brooks is what...black?" Todd almost
didn't believe it...until the thought of Miss Laveau came to mind.  Laveau
certainly had all the qualities that a black man would want in a woman. 
Statuesque looks, a shade and color that was exotic, but not too black to
make her distinctly African-American, a bubbly and eager-to-please
personality when it came to who she - quite literally - served, and - most
notably - an ass that big, round and firm enough to hold a dinner plate on.



   "Yeah, nigga's a big ol sellout too..."

   LD and the others silently shifted at this, voicelessly egging the big
negro to explain.



   "He makes hisself all chumy wit the white folks in e'ry state he hits,
but won't even look at black people."



   "No way" said Todd.



   "Way nigga.  Why you think he move well into the suburbs with yo lily
white ass?  Buildin a big ass mansion overlookin damn near the whole county
an shit?"



   "I dunno" replied Todd innocently, "because it's nice there?"



   "Yeah, nice and white" replied Deon.  "First thing he did rollin in here
was put on a big ol show in fronta folks.  Paradin a army of trucks an shit
through the streets.  He spends all dis time and even mo money building
that mansion in Hot Hands neck a duh woods, and all dis witout even given a
passin glance at a black person, but makin damn sho to contact every white
nigga in with greetin cards and apology letters for the construction. 
Staple sign of a sellout nigga."



   "I dunno D" said LD, "seems a little...quick ta jump to conclusions
about a nigga we ain't even met yet.  We don't even know where da niggas
from, let alone if he tryin to impress folks."



   "I do" continued Deon.  "Nigga from New Orleans.  He from da south like
us, but he ain't even tryin ta rep.  He came up and got big out there."



   "Doing what?" asked Todd, already expecting Deon to answer with "rap" or
some sort of sport being his mode of transportation into big time money.



   "Started up some businesses an shit, got hisself cozied up wit tha right
rich folks."



   "Business?" came Stubby from the back.  "You mean like slangin?"

   That would have been Todd's third guess.



   "Nah, well..." Deon paused for a moment at this.  "At least I don't
think so.  Niggas tell me different things.  Some say he was into some
shady shit when was younger, runnin wit a few local sets an shit.  Other
folks say he got in on accounta Laveau's family taken him in up off the
streets, I dunno."



   "He went big in the biz-world between 97 and 04.



   "Yo, how you know all dis shit D?" asked LD, genuinely curious.



   "Did some readin on tha nigga when I heard he was movin inta town.  That
and askin a few folks first hand Muthafuckas almost like a spook, elusive
as he is.

   Todd almost chuckled at the idea of Deon having his head cocked forward
at a computer screen reading anything besides football scores.  A
researcher `Dough-Boy' Deon most certainly did not appear.  When that
thought died, Todd half thought about saying `but I thought all black
people were spooks?" However he quickly chose to drop the idea upon
considering his current company.



   "Modelin, fashion, music, movies, nigga's inta all kindsa shit."



   Deon surveyed the group as he spoke.  They were all intrigued by this
newest bit of information on Coxville's newest resident.  As far as they
were all concerned, the man had not a face, body or even a tangible voice
aside from the lovely Miss Laveau.  The man was, almost literally, a ghost.




   "I read dat after Katrina hit, that nigga traveled the country.  Got
cozy wit all kinds of white big wigs and execs.  Nigga cleaned up by puttin
his hands in all kind'sa pies."



   "What made him wanna move here den?" asked Stubbs.



   "Dunno really" said Deon.  "People say he got family here or some such
shit.  Other people say he jus inta the small town look.  And other people
say the niggas just out and out crazy.  He don't be on tv, he next to never
takes pictures, and he only does interviews through phone or that bangin
ass assistant uh his."

   Todd recalled hearing earlier that this Brooks somehow had familial
links to Coxville.  That nugget of info had made the old fat coot Cletus
McGuire at the convenience store almost froth at the mouth with excitement.



   "Damn..." said Stubbs, his tone obviously impressed with the compounding
mystery.



   "But fuck dat nigga dou!" replied Deon, abruptly bringing his stance on
the mysterious man back to the fore and putting down Stubby's proposed
wonder.  "Dat boushie ass nigga ain't done shit for black folks since comin
up in the business world!  He gon split durin Katrina, the nigga ain't set
one FOOT on Nigga-Town, and now he hostin dis party for all the rich white
folks at his crib, a `nigga-free' event and shit."

   Todd had to fight back the slightest onset of a smirk with that comment.
It charmed him a bit to think that his father - and by relation him -
counted as one of Coxville's elite to make the mysterious Mr.  Brooks'
guest list.  The other comedic aspect of Deon's statement was silently held
on the idea that, hey, why not throw a party just for us white folks? 
While Deon fumed with quiet anger, the others - LD included - even
beginning to join in the burly brud's animosity, a quiet union of shared
hatred for this `Mr.Brooks' forming amongst them in a shared invisible
fervor.  Todd had to confess in the smallest corner of his mind that; he
was actually starting to like this Brooks character by the sound of him. 
From Deon's description, the man had class, was savvy in not just one, but
several fields applicable to the business world, and - suffice it to say -
he had awesome taste in women.  Todd would have never said any of this out
loud, but this Brooks sounded alright in his book.



   "Dats why..." Deon continued after another moment.



   "Why what?" replied Stubbs.



   Deon cocked a thick black eyebrow while his big lips curled into a grin
that Todd found more than a bit disturbing.



   "Dats why I'm finna get dat muphucka..."

   *******



   At the highest point of the hill overlooking greater Coxville county,
the Brooks mansion was busy to the degree of pure bedlam.  The immaculate
main hall inside the lavish two story estate buzzed and clamored with the
small army of assembled workers, all of whom raced from one end to another
throughout the hall and various wings of the mansion like a cluster of
angry black and white clad bees.  Preparations for the night's event was in
full throttle.  The dozen or so decorators brushed shoulders and
half-butted heads with the eight plus caterers moving to and fro at a speed
just shy of a sprint in the scattered tide of human activity.  The small
team of electricians and construction workers had to half-shove their way
through the living chaos in order to reach specific points and edges of the
estate, taking hammer, nail, wood, electric wiring and plaster in the final
touches of building the mansion.  Even for a place as huge as the newly
assembled home, the forty plus individuals occupying the space in such a
mad mass of action made the manor seem as though it were about to burst
from the inside out.



   For all the madness and motion that had gone into building the elegant
black colonial styled abode, the preparations for Mr.  Brooks' welcome
party made the earlier ordeal seem like light work by comparison.  Upon
crossing the grand threshold and entering the hall proper, one could only
see open space composed of pure pearly white marble flooring, which echoed
from the various clacks and clunk sounds of boot and heel racing about. 
The lining of the walls along with the broad and skillfully curved
diverting staircase to the mansion's second floor was shaded in a solid
polar black, dark oak making up any and all woodwork.



   The two arching staircases led to corridors of wings east and west, the
various rooms laid out in an enfilade fashion.  Just beneath the staircase
was a sizable half oval shaped wall, which was framed with a giant glass
mirror encased in an onyx frame that reflected the hall and its workers.

   The high risen ceiling made the acoustics of the many forces shouting
requests.  So much that some of workers felt an irrational worry of the
huge crystal chandelier looming above the center of the hall would fall as
a result of the reverb.  Demands and calls for assistance almost deafening.
In the far right wing of the mansion's first floor laid was a smaller
parlor area fitted a slew of newly purchased comforts, and was settled with
a purposely old fashioned looking fireplace on one of the far walls.  The
furniture, a small cluster of black mid-sized couches and love-seats of
French style, chairs of a solid and artfully decorated oak, and a huge
old-fashioned table, also made of oak, which were all to be moved into the
main hall later that evening, less than an hour before all of Mr.  Brooks'
carefully selected guest list of thirty some odd Coxville natives had
arrived.

   Beyond the parlor and leading further into the back of the estate
resided the enormous kitchen area, where a team of seven specially hired
New Orleans chefs - flown in by Mr.  Brooks early that very morning - had
been assembled.  Currently the chefs were engaged in a rabble of frenzied
gourmet cooking.  The intoxicating onslaught of aromas and enticing sounds
of sizzle and sautéing meats, soups, vegetables and such erupting in crazed
order as the chefs belted at the top of their lungs various directions and
requests.



   Outside of the mansion in the front and back of the animated scenes,
gardeners and craftsmen were putting the final touches on Brooks' lawn and
back yard.  The grass shaded a heavy and healthy green, the tall hedges
trimmed to angular perfection.  The workers toiled at near breakneck speed,
their skills being pushed to brink and further to make everything perfect
for their mysterious employer.  An army of human-shaped ants putting
together a masterpiece that was greater than the sum of its parts.  And
inside the mansion, standing in the center of all that chaos, was none
other than Miss Adela Laveau.



   "Marcus dear!" belted Adela from the center of the hall, one arm
outstretched towards a busied section of the room, the other hand set
half-akimbo onto one of her wide curvy hips, "make sure the caterers set
aside all the silverware in the parlor until AFTER the cleaners have gotten
to it!  Dirt or dust on any of the utensils will NOT be tolerated!  Noreen,
put up that warning tape on the stairs, please!  The cleaners just finished
the carpets, and the upstairs area is off limits as of five minutes ago! 
Donald, be a dear and tell those chefs we need the final copy of the menu
as soon as possible.  Mr.  Brooks wants to observe it before the guests
arrive!" Adela found herself having to shout over the collective din of the
crowd.



   "Jennifer, tell the construction workers they have less thirty minutes
to finish that plaster!  The painters will be calling for war if they don't
get in to finish the walls soon.  Oh, make sure painters have driers on
hand!  Finishing touches or not, if I hear anything about wet paint on a
suit or dress tonight, heads will roll!  Roland, honey that bust sculpture
is supposed to go OUTSIDE!  There's entirely too much going on in here. 
That's ten thousand dollars down the drain if it gets broken.  We're not
bringing it inside until tonight!"

   Adela's smooth and silken voice came out as stern as a drill sergeant,
but sweetened by it sultry tambour.



   "Yes Miss Laveau!"



   "Of course Miss Laveau!"



   "Right away Miss Laveau!"



   "I'll have it done promptly Miss Laveau!" and phrases of the like were
all she heard in return inside the din.

   Adela was in her element.  Orchestrating and calling the shots of busied
activity simply thrilled her, especially events of this scale.  Seeing the
frenzy of movement and human activity never failed giving her that rush of
excitement.  She simply loved it!  Silently it made her feel like a
puppeteer.  Commanding and motioning her various puppets to dance and move
as she willed.



   This menagerie of workers/puppets had been chosen by Mr.  Brooks
personally, from varying points in the state based on their skills and
reputation, and had all been hired by Miss Laveau personally after a more
than thorough interview and a memorization of VERY specific instructions
and expectations set for the workers.  It was just passed 3 o clock, only a
handful of hours until Mr.  Brooks' long awaited and highly anticipated
party would commence.  It had been the main talk of the town the entire
week.  The air in Coxville held an almost palpable electricity of
anticipation that could have illuminated the entire county.  Many had
wondered how exactly the ever-elusive Mr.  Brooks planned going about
`introducing' himself to his new neighbors.



   No one, not even the cell of bodyguards who were posted at the four main
access points of the mansion, had actually seen the eccentric tycoon.  His
arrival, his assembling of his guest list, his own reception into the town
had shown him to be absent, Miss Laveau present in his stead without fail
each time.  The man was so mysterious, some people - workers included -
began to wonder and theorize if this `Mr.  Brooks' really existed.  If Miss
Laveau was the genius behind the B.o.W Clothing line, the immensely
well-received 5-By-5 Radio show, which dedicated itself to playing popular
Rap, Hip-Hop and R&B music, the corporate entertainment juggernaut
Brooks-Broderick Inc, and the half dozen or so other business endeavors
that were helmed by elusive man under his banner of Sam-Edi Enterprises. 
All the hype, all the building anticipation for his public appearance, had
the town frothing at the mouth for a revelation, the question of `who in
the Sam-Hill is Mr.  Brooks?' sitting on everyone's lips.



   While the job was chaotic and beyond taxing in terms of pace and
expectations of excellence, the exhausting labors of finishing Brooks'
grand project definitely had its perks.  Brooks spared no expense in flying
and shuttling all the workers - first class of course - together to his
home and had no reservations about giving them all the comforts of modern
travel.  They worked as hard as old world slaves, but were treated like
royalty when en route to the mansion.  And of course, not least of all was
the amount of coin Brooks was paying them to put this shindig together,
while at the same time putting the final touches on his newly built home.
The amount he was paying them was...sizable.  Payment to the decorators,
construction workers, painters, and high end chefs would best be described
as enough to motivate the crew into putting in double time onto their
labors, as well as a hefty degree of `then some'.  For the amount of money
and prestige this job was assured to yield, this lot would've built the
sexy brown skinned assistant a fully functioning high-end amusement park in
the back yard if she'd asked.  Rather fitting really, for the
all-encompassing aura of bubbling energy surrounding the mansion was on par
with such a broad-scale endeavor.  Whatever Mr.  Brooks desired, Adela
summoned, and they in turn would produce in as rapid a speed as they could.
And still, Adela was disquieted upon looking at her watch.



   "Where in the blazes are they?" she muttered to herself.  "What good is
the extra help if they aren't here?"



   Miss Laveau was standing at the center of the spacious hall, directing
the human-traffic, when the night's `help' -almost on queue upon Adela
marking their absence- finally arrived.  The broad double doors of the
mansion suddenly burst inward.  The sun was up and shone brightly outside,
and the few workers who looked towards the abrupt noise couldn't make out
the person who entered due to the strong glare.  When the glare was cut, a
squat, round-faced man -mulatto by the look of him - of no more than five
feet strode into the hall.  He passed one of the large, black,
six-foot-plus and dark suited bodyguards who had been stationed at the
door. The short man wore a finely tailored white suit -starched and creased
to the point of sharpness- that did its best to hide the considerable girth
of his belly.  The man's bullet balled head gleamed in the afternoon
sunlight as strode in.



   "Adela, baby!  The man roared cheerfully, outstretching his arms in a
grand gesture of greeting.



   "Ferris!" Adela called from across the hall, frustration sitting just
underneath her tone as her eyes narrowed on the man.  Obviously this
newcomer's entrance was not received quite as happily as the short white
man had expected.  "You were to be here at 2 PM sharp!" she checked her
gold watch.  "It is now 3:05!  And don't even THINK about telling me you
got your time zones mixed up again!"



   "I know, I know, soooo sorry about that sweetie pie!" For such a tiny
man, he had the booming voice of someone twice his size.  Doubtless a
practiced voice that he'd spent hours perfecting into a recorder. 
Rehearsed over and over again to give it the air of a professional
announcer.



   "Don't you sweetie pie me Ferris!  Especially not in front of the
workers!  It sets a bad example."

   Emmanuelle Ferris walked into the hall with all the swagger and
confidence of a man twice his size (and half his weight).  His shiny black
shoes echoed on the marble floor, and he smirked at Adela in a glance he -
and he alone - found charming.  Ferris looked around him, taken in the
display and scale of the mansion with a long impressed whistle.



   "Shit.on.SHINGLES!" Belted Ferris, trying his best to divert Adela's
scolding with compliments.  "Look at this place, its friggin HUGE!  Mr. 
Brooks said doesn't fuck around when he says he's makin a big move.

   Adela's only response was crossing her arms underneath her considerable
chest, her beautiful brown features turning into a model's pout as the man
approached.  As cross as she really was with the tiny man, her beauty
muddied the fact and made her look considerably less serious.



   "No, he most certainly does not, and he doesn't appreciate employees
being late!"



   "We had a bit of a setback earlier today.  Had to get sorted out before
drivinn down from Houston."



   "Really..." replied Adela, her voice more than a bit skeptical.



   "No foolin sugar, it was a hell of a monkey wrench that put a kink in
things.  Dani cancelled on us.  Last minute.  Says she's real sorry she
couldn't make it out.  I had to get a replacement to fly in out on the
shortest notice.  Not my fault sugar, God's honest!

   Adela merely sniffed and continued staring at the man.



   "You understand how these things happen sweetie.  You know how these
things go.  Fancy jet-setting business woman like yourself."



   "Then you should have called Ferris!" snapped Adela back at the short
bald man.  "A single phone call to let us know where the heck you were!  I
can't have our staff missing so close to the guests arriving!"



   "Guests!?" Ferris said, playing at a mocking tone of surprise while he
turned his head from side to side, looking about the room and observing
only the clamor of workers going about their various tasks.  "What guests,
nobody's here yet!  This fancy do ah yours isn't startin til close to nine
a clock.  We got plenty ah time sugar, relax.



   "Less time than you think Ferris.  I still have to get them - as well as
myself - suited and prepped!  They have to know exactly who will be
attending tonight, be made clear of the house rules, be shown around to
know where everything - silverware, glasses, the china, etc - is located,
and where it is to be placed." Adela marked each point she was making by
counting them on her fingers.  "They have to memorize the menu and what's
to be served to the guests.  I still have to test them on their serving
abilities to make sure they aren't spilling champagne and caviar all over
the floor tonight, and don't even get me started on how long it will take
me to prepare the--



   "Alright alright!  I get it", interrupted Ferris.  His timing was good,
as Adela was officially starting to work herself into a full on huff in
front of the workers.  "Everything's gonna be fine sugar.  I promise ya,
this batch is top notch.  Best group I've ever worked with so far.  They'll
have everything down and memorized to a fine science before you can say
"science".  I guarantee you, all of them are pros at what they do, PROS I
tell ya.

   Adela took a breath, a big heave of her large bosoms before she calmed
down.  "They'd better be Ferris.  I'm not frustrated for my own sake.  I'm
simply informing you on behalf of Mr.  Brooks.  There cannot, and simply
will not, be any mistakes tonight.  You know how annoyed Mr.  Brooks gets
by mistakes!

   When standing just in front of Adela, Ferris' height leveled just at the
top of her broad round chest.  A fact that Ferris - in no short margin -
was thoroughly content with.  If there were ever a perk to being as short
as Emmanuelle Ferris, it was being in eye-line sight with Adela Laveau's
huge round coco tits.  He grinned absently at the sight, reminding himself
of this fact, as he often did whenever he found himself zoning out during
one of Miss Laveau's tyraids.  At least the snooty black bitch can give me
a good aim ah cleavage when she starts complaining, thought the short man.
Ferris didn't much appreciate being talked down to.  Not by anyone, and
especially not by Miss Laveau, who - by Ferris' own silent quote and
commentary - needed to pull the thirteen-inch stick out of her ass and
lighten up ASAP.  Maybe replace it with a cock instead, since she was
obviously suffering from a lack of sex.



   Emmanuel Ferris could smell sexual frustration on a woman from a mile
away.  Part of his trade, as well as a natural talent of his.  But, for the
amount of dough Brooks was throwing him for his said talents and access to
his ample resources, Ferris would allow this sexy black bitch to yell at
him until his ears bled.



   "If it weren't for the fact he's known you for so many years he'd had
fired you quicker than-"



   "I know, I know, ah jeez, I know Adela.  Look, don't get yourself all
worked up again, sugar." Apologized Ferris, his hands coming up in an `I
surrender' gesture.  Ferris' rich Cajun accent gave him the sound of a
southern game show host.  A sleazy game show host, though a host all the
same.  "I shoulda called, you're right, of course.  But you can assure Mr.
Brooks that the delay was well worth the return."



   "Is that so?" replied Adela.  "Well it's hard for me to see that little
claim as true or false if I can't see for myself, now isn't it?

   Adela turned her back began walking away from the man, calmly striding
with the clack of her heels towards the kitchen, still so much left do
before the night's festivities.  Ferris followed doggedly behind her.



   "I know, I know, ah jeez, I got ya Adela.  Like I said, Dani couldn't
make it today.  Came down with the flu or some shit, BUT the replacement I
got - in my humble opinion - is a WAY better choice for this kinda thing
you guys got planned." As he spoke, Ferris' body shifted towards the front
of the mansion.



   "That's all good and fine Ferris, but where-"Adela began, turning on her
heels to once again face the man.  But before she could however, Ferris
placed two fingers inside the corners of his mouth, and let out an almost
ear splitting whistle that felt like it could have made the glass windows
of the hall shake in their frames.  Emmanuel Ferris was a host.  A
professional barker and organizer who - for the right price - would assist
in giving his clients extra hands to their venues.  Hands of a very
particular, very effeminate persuasion.  The construction workers,
caterers, and other present scene-setters all turned to the squat man in
surprise.  Their gazes diverted towards the front door a moment later
however, when they saw who Ferris had called for.



   Through the huge threshold of Mr.  Brooks' arching front doorway walked
a group of seven STUNNINGLY gorgeous young women.  Four thoroughly stacked
and packed white girls, an exotic and athletically built woman who looked
of mixed race with either Hispanic or Portuguese, a short Asian girl of
Chinese or perhaps Korean lineage, and a light skinned African-American
girl that would have been deemed "high-yellow" by her peers and elders. 
Seven striking and beyond sexy vixens, and Ferris drank in their impact on
the crowd with a toothy smile, revealing a single gold tooth shining in
place of a canine.  They strode confidentially into the main hall, their
shoes and heels clacking in an audible mash-up as they walked in, side by
side, their luscious breasts and round bubble butts giggling lightly in
their plain white polo shirts and tight fitting black shorts with each step
of their approach.



   Jaws dropped throughout the hall.  The construction worker who had been
putting final touches on a far edge accidentally punched a new hole into
the plaster with his hammer.  A young red-headed caterer nearly dropped the
arm full of glass plates he had been toting to the kitchen, and several of
the female decorators nearly tripped themselves up in their own shoes
trying to walk and stare and the striking sextet.  Noreen, one of Adela's
personal assistants, all but tripped over herself getting out of the groups
path.  Their bouncy trek ended just in front of Ferris, all of them still
standing side by side, and Ferris with an outstretched arm announced,



   "Adela sweetie, meet the girls!  Girls, this criminally beautiful stack
of woman right here is none other miss Adela Laveau, your instructor, your
employer, your GENERAL for this evening!  Say hello ladies!"

   The seven girls, all of them looking to be no older than their early to
mid-twenties, gracefully bowed or waved a hand in greeting to Adela.  As
they did, Miss Laveau silently appraised them, a smile on her face that
settled nowhere near her eyes.  The `help' had finally arrived.

   ...







   The seven women were all wearing similar clothing; tight fitting polo
shirts with the stylized initials of "B.o.W" woven onto the right side of
the chest, and small black shorts that were cruelly showcasing the female's
bountiful parts.  From left to right, Ferris introduced the girls
individually:



   "This blonde cutie-pie right here, is Delilah!" he announced her as a
barker would present a ride at an amusement park.

   Delilah was a petite - though very busty - young blonde girl.  She had
light sky-blue eyes and the bubbly looks and aura of a cheerleader
preparing for a big game, with her deep dimples and button nose.  Her hair
was pulled into a sporty little pony tail that went just a bit behind her
shoulders.  Her bare legs - smooth and trimmed- came out from her tight
black shorts.  They were silky and lithe, her waist almost supernaturally
trim when paired with her chest, which - Adela speculated - were solid D's
and perhaps a bit more than her small shirt could handle, even despite her
smallish frame.  Delilah's breasts were exceptionally pert and rounded out
high in her tight white polo shirt.



   "It's such a pleasure to meet you Miss Laveau." She said with a bright
white smile and a thick country accent.



   "A pleasure dear.  I like your accent.  Where are you from?"



   "North Carolina." The bubbly blonde said with a beam.



   "Splendid!  Another southern girl.  You'll make the guests feel right at
home."

   Delilah shot that winning smile at Adela, and Adela returned hers in
kind.

   Next to Delilah was another blonde girl.  Unlike Delilah however, she
was tall and had a significantly more curvaceous body.  She was perhaps a
year or two older than the others, her tint of hair making her more
platinum than straight blonde.



   "And this is Kami" announced Ferris proudly.

   Kami wore tight spandex shorts that showed off her exceptionally toned
legs and - from the worker's angle - brilliantly bubble shape curves of her
ass.  The tight cling of her white polo shirt - an article about a size and
a half too small for her DD sized breasts - showed her to have a piercing
of some kind on her near her belly button.  Not a preferred piece as far as
Adela was concerned, but not an unforgivable act on the blonde's part.



   "Ms.  Laveau" said the tall blonde coolly.  Her eyes were a deep green,
her accent not southern but a crisp Californian, and her facial features
reminded Adela of the actress Olivia Wilde.  Kami leaned forward and
presented her hand to the black woman, an act which caused her beautifully
round tits to press against the fabric of her own white polo shirt.  Her
deep natural dimples showed as she smiled at the black woman.

   "Kami's our Valley girl" noted Ferris to Adela.  "Joined up during my
last visit to LA.  Couldn't get her to leave me alone when I mentioned
being a talent recruiter for B.o.W".



   "Manny~!" Kami playfully whined, nudging the short mulatto, "don't make
me sound like some kind of social climber, jeez dude!"



   "Don't act like you don't love it!" Ferris said jokingly before moving
on, taking a moment to playfully grab at the platinum blondes gorgeous hips
and luscious ass before continuing down the line.

   The next white girl was the seemingly mixed one.



   "My main mami Marisol" stated Ferris, and in response the girl gave a
dainty bow to her employer.

   She had lush auburn hair that came to just about her jaw, her facial
features reminding Adela of a young version of that actress from the Zorro
movies.  Marisol easily had the most toned body of the bunch.  The
effeminate though strong looking ripples of her stomach showing through her
white shirt were topped with large natural looking breasts that most women
would pay thousands upon thousands of dollars for.  Her high cheek bones
and dark - most definitely Latin - looking eyes peered and pierced Adela
with a warm greeting.



   "Pleasure to meet you Senora Leveau." she said, a small elegant nod
accompanying her greeting and sultry Spanish accent.

   Next, came the Asian girl.  She was definitely the smallest of the group
at no higher than five-feet-two, but lord above was she a beauty!  Her face
had the innocence of and bubbly persona of a Japanese pop idol, and her
snow white skin served as a gorgeous contrast to her long and glossy jet
black hair.  She was slim, but looked to be in brilliant shape.  Adela
immediately took her for a tennis player from her firm legs.



   "And this little beaut is Mariah." Smirked Ferris.



   "So nice to meet you Miss Laveau.  Mr.  Ferris has told me many amazing
things about you and Mr.  Brooks.  I'm honored to be serving you tonight."
Her tone was light and soft spoken, even somewhat shy, and the wave of her
hand was very subtle to Adela.  Laveau nodded kindly and told her she and
Mr.  Brooks appreciated her coming down.

   Onward came the third white girl.  A very tall, VERY busty red head with
fair skin, full lips and curves that made her look like she'd been bred
purely to drive men insane.  Her breasts couldn't have been any smaller
than a well-rounded G, and the tight fitting polo shirt she wore made it
almost impossible not to notice her budded nipples poking from their
respective places.  Such traits came when wearing no bra.



   "Big red here is Tammy" said Ferris.



   "Ferris!  I've told you a million times, `DON'T call me Big Red'!"
Snapped the girl.  She cocked a hip and placed both her hands to her sides,
shooting the man a piercing sneer but immediately checked and brightened
herself up before Adela.  "Sorry about that, so nice to meet you Miss
Laveau.  Ferris called me last minute to replace Dani.  Anything you need
me to do, consider it done the minute you ask." Tammy had a thick southern
accent - Texan by the sound of it - and she stepped forward to firmly shake
Adela's hand before falling back into the line.  Adela liked her almost
instantly.

   The tall redhead had a fire in her that Adela liked.  A woman who wasn't
afraid to stand up to Emmanuel Ferris (a total sleaze and mar to Mr. 
Brooks' stellar reputation in Adela's opinion) was a woman who Adela liked
having around, servant or equal.



   "I'm glad you could join us sweetie" said Adela, and Tammy's cheeks
flushed instantly into a rosey red blush.



   The fourth white girl was a tall, dark haired vision who Ferris
announced as Merissa.  Merissa had statuesque features, piercing dark hazel
eyes, gorgeous full red lips, a beyond tight physique (the body of an avid
swimmer), and a quiet elegance that struck Adela as sensually alluring. 
Merissa merely bowed her head daintily and gave a polite smile to Adela.



   "Meri may seem shy now, but trust me, she's a force of nature when it's
go time!"

   Ferris winked at Adela, and she noticed that the other girls got a
slight chuckle out of this, as though there were some inside joke she
wasn't brought in on.



   "And last, but certainly not least, we got my girl Tanya!"

   The light-skinned black girl stepped forward.  Adela herself was almost
aghast at the shape of the final woman.  Not an inch of fat nor blemish
could be seen on her body, much of it being on display from the slim and
tight cut of her shorts and shirt.  She was all sweet caramel curves,
luscious legs, big lips and thighs, and an ass that Adela - even from a
front view - could rank nearly as round and full as her own.  I've got to
hand it to that little toad Ferris, thought Adela, he picks up the healthy
ones.



   "Tanya, pleasure to meet you dear."



   "Pleasure to meet you Miss Laveau.  I really love Mr.  Brooks' place. 
This is one of the most beautiful mansions I've ever seen."



   "Oh?" said Adela curiously.  "This isn't your first mansion party then?"
she asked.



   "No, I've actually hosted a couple mansion parties for Mr.  Ferris in
the past."



   "She's a PHENOM!" chimed in Ferris.



   "This is hands down the best one though."

   Adela beamed, charmed by the girl.  The body of a goddess and manners to
back it up.  She reminded Adela of herself at that age.



   "I'll be sure to inform Mr.  Brooks of your appreciation."



   "Um, Miss Laveau" came Delilah from the other end of the line, one of
her hands raised like a timid school girl.



   "Yes dear" replied Adela.



   "Well..." the cute blonde hesitated.  "Me and the girls were
wondering...is..." she paused again.

   A moment passed and Adela cocked an eyebrow.



   "Yes..." Adela pressed.



   "Is Mr.  Brooks...really going to make an appearance tonight?"

   Another silence, this one more prominent, since most of the workers in
the hall had stopped what they were doing to listen in.  One would have
sworn the entire hall was holding its breath.



   "Well..." replied Adela, "it is his party..."



   "I know, and I'm sure it's gonna be a great one.  But...it's just...
we've heard he next to never appears in public, not even at the parties he
throws.  Marisol and Kami hosted three of his parties last year through Mr.
Ferris, and they didn't once even catch a glimpse of him."



   The line of girls nodded, bringing to the fore their interest about Mr.
Brooks' taciturnity.  Everyone had been wondering about why Brooks was so
shy when it came to public do's.  Talks about his having weak health due to
some strange and rare debilitating disease, him having a fragile and easily
stressed mind from trying to stay at the top rung of several business
markets, or - in more quieted conversations - shame and want of secrecy due
to some kind of physical deformity permeated through the various rumor
mills.



   "I'm sure it's just on account of him bein way too busy."



   "Yes" said Adela, "Mr.  Brooks is an exceedingly busy man."



   "Yeah...and we were wonderin if..."



   "Wondering if..." Adela pressed, wanting to hear Delilah - acting
mouthpiece of the hostess troupe by the apparent look of it -



   "We were wonderin if...Mr.  Brooks would be around personally tonight.
We all just wanna thank him for letting us do this job.  We always have a
blast servin ya'll."

   The seven girls all beamed, nervousness mixed with equal parts
giddiness. Indeed, Alexander Brooks was known for throwing the best
corporate parties and promo bashes.  The B.o.W Summer Bash that had been
held in Cancun last year was still being talked about by those who
attended, and mourned by those who didn't.  Ferris had - of course -
provided the hostess crew for that particular gathering as well, and many
of the girls were STILL swooning from how much fun they'd had.  It had been
work, it was still a job after all.  But it had been incredibly fun and
exciting work, filled heavy bass music, hot dancing and feats that should
have been made official in the Guiness Book of Records.



   Adela slightly chewed at her lower lip, making it a small game to toy
with the girls as she `thought it over'.



   "Well...Mr.  Brooks' party this evening is definitely going to require
you all be at your best at all times.  It will be a party, yes.  But I
assure you, it will be a party unlike anything Mr.  Brooks' has ever
presented.  All of you are expected to bring the exceptional degree of
efficiency and professionalism that Mr.  Ferris has - quite boisterously -
guaranteed you all to have.  Tonight this town's most prominent figures
will be present, ladies.  The mayor and his family included."



   Adela was so caught up in her speech she hadn't realized that she'd
begun pacing before the seven beauties.



   "Coxville County's best will be here tonight, and nothing short of
one-hundred and twenty percent is to be had from each and every one of you.
Anything less will simply not be tolerated.  This event is very important
to Mr.  Brooks, ladies.  Coxville marks a very large transition on his
part. It may seem like a small southern town to you, but where people like
you and I see a small town, men like Mr.  Brooks see a world of potential.
He is to be backed and presented to this town and its people with nothing
short of excellence.  Is that understood?"

   The girls all nodded, a wave of seriousness overtaking them all at once.
Adela let that seriousness levitate in the air for a moment, her eyes
searching the room to see that everyone - decorators, construction workers,
assistants and so forth - were all looking at her, having clung to her
every word.  She then let her drill sergeants gaze fall, and allowed the
otherworldly clutch of her cadence evaporate with her signature smile.



   "Wonderful" she said, instantly flipping back into her cheery and upbeat
tambour.  "Then I don't see why Mr.  Brooks can't give you girls a little
hello after the guests have all been served and settled."

   The mood of the room instantly lightened in a collective exhale from the
girls and workers.



   "Thank you so~ much Miss Laveau" Delilah squeaked.  The other girls gave
similar sounds and made triumphant little gestures with their bodies to
mark their gratitude.  "We promise we won't let you down Miss Laveau!" said
Tammy the redhead, "anything you want us to do, we'll do it,
lickity-split."



   "Lickity-split" replied Adela.  "Sounds beautiful honey.  Now...let's
get you girls uniformed up!  The guests will be arriving at nine sharp, and
you ladies still have much to learn and memorize before they get here."

   Adela turned to the onlooking clan of assistants.



   "And the lot of you can now go back to work!  Chop chop everyone.  Miles
to go before we sleep!"

   And with that and three quick claps of Adela's hands, the crowd of
workers busted back into the swing of their labors, and the manor of
Alexander Brooks fell back into its maddened tempo of activity.

   ...



   < To my oldest friend Kostya,

   After weeks and weeks of this nauseating ocean air and this accursed sea
captain's crass remarks, I joyously report our company has finally reached
dry land!  Granted, it is not the `Washington' my brother originally spoke
of.  Not the land where we are ultimately set for destination to get these
dealings of distributed land under way, but all the same I am truly
grateful to simply be off that dreadful rocking mass of wood!  I am writing
now from a quaint - if a bit suspect- Inn in one of the more bustling areas
of our current region.  I say `suspect' for the rather ominous manner of
the Inn's keeper.  The looks he gave I and my Inna were of a disturbing and
all too probing sort.





   A man from Cherniderivo would earn a sound beating for such wanton
fervor held in his gaze upon observing my Inna.  I initially planned to
confront the Inn keeper - a strange little man of indeterminate origin -
but my brother quickly stepped in and soothed my anger, reminding me of why
we're here and how a skirmish will tarnish the aim of our goal.  This
detour we've taken is a strange land indeed comrade Kostya.  A queer land
filled with even queerer people.  I can't say I am surprised that that
brute Hughes is familiar with the region, and our stop here comes by his
own recommendation, which - I suppose - explains the crude eye and lack of
courtesy from our Inn host.



   But enough of brawls, more of the pleasantness of being on land again.
The feel of solid ground beneath my feet leaves more than comforted.  My
dear Inna has noted my frog-green paller to have disappeared almost
instantly upon reaching port.  She hadn't been affected in the slightest by
our journey, and looked as gorgeous and gentile setting foot upon the
wooden docks in her elegant white dress as she did upon our first day at
sea.  And - in response to your last received letter - I enjoyed as much of
my wife and her goddesses given endowments as I could when my body was up
for the deed.





   Not that it is any of your business (old friends or not) but the shape
and curve of my beloved will remain as much a mystery to you now as it did
when we were young lads eyeing her from afar on your father's farm.  You
tell me fate is unkind for your not courting her first.  I see it as fate
and good fortune blessing me tenfold every time I spy my wife disrobe.  Ha!
Do not be envious my friend.  There are plenty of healthy, handsome and
well-endowed women to choose from in Cherniderivo.  We boast about our
women for good reason, and yours will be granted to you in due time.





   The various people here have taken notice to her elegance as well.  The
people making up these lands are very curious, and come in shades and
shapes I've never seen before.  Walking through the local streets of this
`state', this New Orleans, I took notice to how many of the local men and
women were taken aback by my Inna's beauty.  One group in particular, a
very strange dark people, ones Captain Hughes insists aren't truly human
like he or I, were struck by my Inna's presence as we followed our idiot
Captain to the Inn.  Doubtless it was her straight raven hair and flawless
fair skin that struck them, as their own hair was as curly as sheep's hide
and their skin Kostya - I swear to you - as dark as coal in some extremes .
Some of the male dark-ones (I believe Hughes referred to them as `Niggers')
tipped their hats jovially to her or gave her a courteous bow upon her
passing.  The act charmed my Inna to no end.  She was like a little girl
beaming at the trick of dogs doing a fancy trick before her.  This reaction
caused some of the female dark-ones to respond with notable envy, which was
an amusing sight to behold.

   Inna, my brother and I will be staying in this Inn for the next week,
while our party restocks on some essential supplies.  Our guide and
resident bastard Hughes will be doing the leg work, despite my brother
insisting we aid in the collection.  He believes that it would be wise to
get an idea of how these Americans engage in trade need to continue our
voyage.  I however believe I am in much need of relaxation after the ordeal
of sea travel.  I am not at all looking forward to leaving, but Hughes
informs me that when we next set sail it will be under far calmer
circumstances.  I trust and believe the bearded old fool as far I can throw
him across the ocean we just traversed.  In the meanwhile our group is to
enjoy the sights of this town.  More and more I am seeing this business
trip as a vacation rather than a business transaction.



   While I am apprehensive to personally engage with any of the local
color, my brother has jumped headlong in the `getting to know others'
portion of our journey.  He - ever the charmer - has already made
acquaintances with several fellow travelers using the English he is versed
in.  While their native lands strike me as unfamiliar, their blonde hair
and equally fair skin hint to me they may be from the Dutch lands.

   I will send word when we are again at sea comrade.  For now, I will
enjoy the steadiness of land, and the rounded angles of my Inna.

   Warmest Regards,

   Sergei >

   ...

   "Whoa!" came Stubby, "what chu mean git at him?"

   "What I mean is" replied Deon.  "Tonight's da night of that white-washed
nigga's shindig." Deon stared at the gathered band, their faces blank in
silence.  After realizing the group failed to catch his cryptic meaning, he
continued.



   "Tonight, while he playin house nigga, I'm gonna sneak in and leave him
a little...welcome present."



   Deon's gaze went to a corner of the room.  LD and the others followed
his gaze to the sight of a large black duffel bag that had been sitting
inconspicuously on the far wall of the gym.  LD had recalled him coming in
with it earlier.  He'd figured it had just been carrying the regular load
of snacks (contraband in the eyes of Coach Black) and a gym towel.  All the
faces in the room went to the bag, and then back on Deon's sinisterly
grinning countenance.  The burly negro wasn't kidding.  He was really going
to go through with it.  He may have been smiling, but that smile hinted
nothing of humor nor jest, and nothing comical even came close to his eyes.
He really planned on sneaking into Brooks' party.  He was going to enter
Brooks' home, and - using the contents of whatever was in his duffel bag -
desecrate or rob one or more of Brooks' empty rooms while Brooks and Miss
Leveau were busy attending to their party guests.



   "And if dey catch yo black ass?  Word is the niggas got mo bodyguards
than Obama." asked LD, who by the sound of him was the only remaining
skeptic in the group.  In response, Deon only chuckled.

   "I ain't gonna get caught."



   "Real talk?" asked LD



   "Real talk" replied Deon.  "I got a nigga on da inside who finna get me
in."



   "How?" questioned LD.



   "Back door.  The plan is my man is gonna `forget' to lock it after a cig
break, and I sneak in through the mothafucka when the time is right."



   "And how you gonna get out?"

   "Same way I got in..."



   "Aight, and what if somethin goes wrong?  What if Brooks or one of his
other guys locks the door after you get in?"



   "My man ain't gonna let that happen?  He gonna watch my back and be
lookout while I do ma thing."



   "How you know fo sho?  How you know that nigga ain't gonna sell you out
once you get inside.  Maybe try to make hisself look good in front of
Brooks and Laveau by trappin yo black ass befo you get out?"

   "Ain't gonna happen?"



   "How you know?"



   "Cuz." Replied Deon tersely.



   "Cuz what, you payin that nigga or what?" Pressed LD.



   "Damn nigga.  What you grillin me fo?  My man just said there ain't
gonna be no problem fo me gettin in or out.  All's I gotta do is sneak in
through da back door at the time is right."

   "When tha time is right?"



   "Dats what he said."



   "Who?" asked Stubbs, his brown eyes wide with wonder.  He'd been
observing LD and Deon's verbal grapple silently until now.  "Who lettin you
inside?  One of the security guards, right?"

   "Dats for me to know nigga."



   "Why?" came LD, "If it's somebody on the inside, why would dey risk
gettin fired to help yo ass?" Stubbs face turn to LD and then Deon, while
LD raised a curious eyebrow.  In minutes Deon had told them more about Mr.
Brooks than any of them had heard in months.  Then, the hulkish nigga
revealed plans of crashing the party in some adolescent act of revenge
against his perceived betrayer.



   "Don't worry bout it.  When it comes ta shit like this, representin yo
rep and race, niggas just man up like dis fo each other."

   "Reppin tha race huh?" balked LD.  "You delusional as fuck Deon."

   "What chu tryin to say nigga?"



   "All I'm sayin is, you'd be surprised how quick shit like `reppin yo
race' gets pushed aside when you put a fat ass check in front of a nigga.
How much you think Brooks is payin those dudes?  You think this inside man
of yours is gonna fuck dat up over a teenage prank?  Get real nigga!"



   "Fuck if I know why he's down." replied Deon, shrugging his massive
shoulders.  "Don't really matter to me.  Fact is if a nigga can get payback
- get one in on his boss - while getting paid at tha same time, he won't
sweat tha details.  If Brooks don't know who let me in, he can't do shit.

   "He can always just fire the whole staff."



   "Hey, not my problem.  I jus know dat Brooks is bout to get his nigga
wake-up call.  He wanna make hisself cozy wit all da crackers in town, Den
he gets to worry about niggas gettin into his shit just like the rest of
em." A more than flawed plan was what Todd White - who had made
conveniently himself a silent shade in the background - had concluded.



   "And..." added Deon, almost as if he had been queued, "If I DO get
caught, I'll know its becuz somebody snitched." Deon's menacing brown eyes
fell to Todd's shifting green ones.

   "You feel me knockin White Hot Hands?"

   Todd gulped,

   "Wait, W-What?"



   "You narc on me, and I'll bust yo ass up in ways that'll make niggas beg
of belief."



   "H-Hey bro," replied Todd, his hands raised in a sign of surrender and a
nervous smile cracked on the edge of his mouth.  "I didn't hear nothing. 
I'm no snitch.  I won't say anything." Todd's jittery promise did not stop
Deon from advancing on the lithe youth however.



   "You sure bout that?  Maybe I oughta bust yo ass now just in case." Deon
strode to the smaller white youth, his mammoth sized hands brought together
in one fist being held in one open palm.  The cracking sound that came from
Deon's knuckles as he popped them sounded more like bones breaking, the
neck of something as big as dog from the subsequent echo.



   "Yo dude, I swear I won't tell anyo-!"

   Deon was upon him before he could finish his sentence, and had him by
the front of his shirt.  His giant hand curled into a fist around the
gripped fabric.  Todd's eyes widened in terror as Deon's gaze fell to
within inches of his face.



   "Maybe I should fuck you up just to be sure!" growled the burly negro.
Todd's knees were on the verge of knocking together from the fear.



   "Aight aight, ease up Dough-boy!" came LD from their pairs' side.  Deon
turned to the tall black man, his angered glare now turned upon his fellow
teammate.  "He gets the message.  You'll beat his ass if he squawks.  Ease
back."

   "Didn't take you fo being soft on crackas too, LD."



   "Psh" sniffed LD, "I just don't wanna hear Coaches' mouth if Hot Hands
rolls up t' practice lookin all fucked up.  You know he don't play dat
shit. He'll bust yo twice as hard for layin hands on people befo a game. 
Probably give you another lecture about you `wastin tackling fuel'.

   With this, the brute Deon was given reason for pause.  He thought about
it.  Coach Black was more than a force to be reckoned with.  "Wasting
tackling fuel" was the staple line of a long lecture the Coach shouted at
Deon while he did a seemingly endless onslaught of pushups.  Deon's crime?
Getting caught banging the guts out of two cheerleaders in the locker room
the day before an important away game.  Coach had got in his ass major for
that stunt, as he felt wasting energy the day before a big game sabotaged
their chances of winning.  That day Deon been puffing and panting while
burying his massive twelve-inch manhood into not one, but two cheerleading
hotties - the half white, half Japanese minx Miko, and her ever-present
girlfriend Pamela.  The horny pair had all but accosted him in the locker
room after practice that day.  They'd snuck into the boys locker room and
in no time flat Deon found himself getting sucked off by the sexy dark
haired amerasian and the equally hot white girlfriend.  He swapped his
horse sized cock between their open holes, Miko and her taut butt
straddling Pamela and her tone spread legs on one of the locker room
benches.  Deon was closing in on a most intense orgasm when Coach Black
grabbed him by the tuft of his neck and broke up the tryst.

   As punishment, Deon had make it through wave after wave of push up reps,
while simultaneously trying to make sense of Coach Black's rant, filtered
through his booming voice.

   I don't give a flyin FUCK if it was FOUR pairs of white titties coming
at you in the locker room!  You wastin energy on pussy the day before game
is nothin short of a waste of tacklin fuel, boy!  And wasted fuel from one
player is wasted fuel for the entire team!  You feel me knockin son!  But
if you insist on wastin fuel, we might as well make sure you work off some
of dat blubber gathered round yo middle!  How's that sound Dough-Boy?!"

   The only thing that made the experience worse was the agonizing case of
blue balls that Deon had to suffer through while doing the reps.  It was a
hell of his own making, and it was safe to say that Coach Black was the
only person Deon found himself genuinely afraid of.  While the bald headed
instructor had no particular love for and held no favor for Coxville's
white players, he refused to stand for in-house fighting among teammates.
It was something Black simply would not tolerate, as it caused teams to
fall apart from the inside out.  If Black learned that Deon had started a
tumult between the white and black players on the team, and in turn cost
them the white hot winning streak they'd been on, that would - in no short
order or uncertain terms - be Deon's ass.

   He released his grip on the quivering White, and it was only after his
trainers touched the gym floor that Todd released Deon had lifted and was
holding him above ground!  Jesus, is this nigger on roids or something? 
Why is he so strong thought Todd.

   His anger quelled, Deon turned away from the group and over to the black
bag.  He went about checking the unseen contents of the duffel, while Todd
stood behind rubbing at his neck and trying to rub out the wrinkles of his
t-shirt collar.

   "So, what time we rollin den?" asked Stubbs, a excited look of almost
boyish anticipated etched on his strong black features.  This type of
up-close drama made television obsolete.

   "Duh fuck you mean `we' Stubbs?  Ya'll niggas ain't invited."

   "Sheeeit, the fuck we ain't!" replied the short bald black man.  "You
wouldn't a told us all dat shit if you wasn't tryin to bring niggas along.
I seen plenty a heist movies.  Niggas only spill that much of dey plan when
dey tryin to recruit muphuckas" LD and Todd looked at each other, and then
to Deon.  LD cocked a smirk at Stubby's deduction.  The squirrelly nigga
had a point.  Why go into detail about such a plan if he wasn't
propositioning them to go along for the ride?

   "You ain't even down." replied Deon, not willing to give Stubbs his
props, but acknowledging the proposition all the same.

   "Fuck yeah I am boy!" belted Stubbs.  "Sneakin into tha crip of
Coxville's richest nigga?  Only thing that'd get me to say no to dat would
be beaten up Todd's momma's pussy."

   "Fuck you Stubbs!" belted Todd, "And she's not my mom!"



   "Whata bout chu LD?  You askin a million-three questions bout it.  Must
mean you wanna get in on it too" said Stubbs, ignoring Todd's retort.  LD
thought about it for a moment.  He weighed the risks.  If they got caught
breaking into Brooks' estate, they'd be more than fucked by the time word
got to Coach Black.  He couldn't think of any real reason to get himself
involved in such a ridiculous and risky prank.  A plan thought up Deon was
flawed from the jump, and that alone gave him ample reason to bow out of
the proposed misadventure.  However...

   "Fuck it..." was what came out of LD's mouth, his eyes hidden behind his
shades.  "Seein the look on yo face when shit goes south will almost be
worth gettin chewed out by Coach."

   That was the reason LD gave, but in truth he had another reason.  Mr. 
Brooks was a living mystery, and if nothing else, LD wanted to see what the
elusive man was living like in Coxville.  The surrounding secrets and half
bits of info on the man was silently impelling LD to move.  Driving him to
find out for himself just who this Brooks nigga was to have the town so
riled up.  LD wanted to see if all the rumors and hearsay about the
eccentric nigga was true.

   "You goin too, White Hot Hands?" asked Stubby.

   "Well..." Began Todd.  He thought about it.  He didn't trust any of
these guys.  They were bound to get him in trouble, and would likely betray
him the first chance they got.  However...he recalled what his bitch
stepmother had said to him during Miss Laveau visit to their house.  Adults
only, in that bitchy Russian lilt of hers.  He hated how Anya always tried
treating him like a kid, despite the fact she wasn't even really that much
older than him (not by that much at least).  He didn't want to go.  He was
honestly quite scared of the idea of getting caught.  But Todd White knew
that sneaking into Brooks' estate would be going against his stepmother's
wishes.  It would be defiance of the highest order.  And the only thing
Todd liked more than watching the trophy wife's big tits and ass bounce and
giggle around the house, it was seeing her fume with anger at his defiance.

   "Yeah...yeah I'm going too.  Fuck yeah." Todd said.  Deon snorted
something less than jovial.  He really didn't want Todd going along.  To
Deon this trick was one rooted in pride and retribution (albeit it a petty
trick rooted in a lacking line of logic).

   "Dis like some old Ocean's Eleven type shit." Laughed Stubby.  For him,
this was just another way for him to get another thrill.  Stubby, the
adrenaline junkie he was, found himself near trembling at the thought of
such an endeavor.  Stubbs only found himself this excited for two other
activities; sports and banging out fine white pussy.  The idea of invading
an exclusive party and sneaking into it `Ocean's Eleven' style had him
crackling with excitement.  For Stubbs, it was all about the thrill.

   "All's we gotta do is make sure White Hot Hands doesn't try catching
anything."

   "Fuck you Stubbs!" came Todd.

   LD chuckled to himself.  This would probably end very badly for the lot
of them.  But a silent, almost intoxicating lure to Brooks' mansion spurred
them on.  It drew them with an unknowable attraction that could not be
perceived through sight, sound, touch or smell, yet held their senses
simultaneously all the same.  And that attraction caused them all to draw
to the same silent conclusion of Fuck it, why not?

   ...

   < To my oldest comrade Kostya,

   I write you this letter with a trembling and unsteady hand.  I am not at
sea, though the slurred and sloppy state of my handwriting will hint
otherwise.  In truth old friend, I am writing in the near dark of my hotel
room, under the singular faint glow of the candlelight that the Inn keeper
of this accursed establishment was kind enough to give me, a miniscule
consolation for what has befallen me.  I am in a lowered and ruined state
oldest friend.  The past three days have been a whirlwind of nebulous
activity.  Things have happened which, in all honesty, I can barely
differentiate between truth and fiction.  I feel as if my life has somehow
spiraled into some macabre yarn of dark horror.  A dark yarn filled with
dark people...with my beloved Inna as the centerpiece.

   I must explain, trembling hands or not.  It was three days ago.  I, my
brother and my Inna were enjoying an afternoon walk in the more densely
populated areas of New Orleans.  Our captain Hughes - whom I've written
numerous times to have never trusted - was elsewhere, up to his various
tasks and dealings.  Over the course of our stay - stretched to a fortnight
- had truly come to enjoy this place.  The sights and sounds, the smells of
this strange land and its deluge of queer peoples were unlike anything we
had seen back home in Cherniderivo.  Where home is endless valleys and
nature, New Orleans is a jungle of buildings fashioned round mazes of wood
and stone.  Inna in particular had grown quite fond of the mixed and
multi-racial areas of the land.  The various languages and dialects, musics
and craftings, all of it became quite a lure for her.  Her beauty - as I
now realize - inspire all around her a sort of hypnotic softening of
character in women, and a solidifying of gentlemanly conduct in men.  And
in my titanic foolishness Kostya, I allowed her to go off alone.  Thinking
that - as a foreigner on unknown business - my Inna would be safe from the
more dubious inhabitants of this town.  I want to ask myself how I was to
know.  How was I to know that such individuals dwelled in a place that
appeared to be so cheerful and inviting to travelers such as us.  How was
I... apologies friend, my hands skip ahead of the narrative.  I was looking
through the various shops and establishments.  I became preoccupied with
some of the drawn findings scattered about.  Art and bits of language that
I've never seen before.  I took to reading the numerous signs and posters
that laid strewn about the avenues and streets.  My fancy for strange new
dialects and my want to better my English guiding me like a foolhardy young
school boy.  Inna and my brother meanwhile went about their own
explorations

   While along one particular bustling street, I was stopped by one piece I
found posted on one of the larger public walls.  A yellowed piece of
parchment.  It caught my attention among the multitude of posters and
pamphlets, advertisement and attempted colonial propaganda that were
plastered on the wall.  The picture displayed was of a horrifying scowling
countenance - a truly brutish and unsightly thing - of a cartoonishly drawn
nigger man.  I was fascinated by the exaggerated details of his face and
body.  His stark African facial features, wide nosed and big-lipped, his
black mane of tangled course and curly hair, and a thick beard that would
make even our most manly of Russian brethren envious.  A giant in all but
name and naturalist classification.  His body was drawn in such a way, his
muscles large and defined that it would almost seem impossible for a living
man, though probable in the writings of myth.  Da, myths that hail not from
our beloved mother Russia, but from the dark jungles of Africa, where I
hear all manner of black magic and undercurrent dealings with malicious
entities hails.

   There was a silent power about the figure, and unspoken strength and -
dare I say - cruelty settled on the man-beast's muscles and carved deep
into his labor-worn face.  Impossible, da.  An impossible man etched before
me, and hurled into the fantastic when one set his or her eyes on the
drawings lower quarters.  The cartoon man drawn on the piece of parchment
was illustrated with what had to have been the largest male member I've
ever seen on a two legged being.  The artist had spent an excessive amount
of time drawing every nuance and vein of this...this monstrosity!  It was
disturbing and yet somehow macabrely fascinating to the eye.  I confess to
you comrade, I was drawn to the etching in a way that should be perceived
as impure and most strange from a married man.

   My English, poor as it is, could only decipher certain words written
below the crude drawing.  "Escape.Nigger.Reward".  It was only when my
brother found me in my bewitched analysis and explained to me what words
meant and the drawing represented, that my curiosity was replaced with a
startling sense of dread.  The paper was what the Americans call a "Wanted
Poster".  Not at all unlike the bulletin messages and announcement our
townsmen leave on the walls of Cherniderivo's center square.  I learned
that this creature, this beastly black man with the inhuman penis and the
grapefruit sized testicles, was a slave.  A slave who belonged to a wealthy
man - a landowner - hailing from the deeper southern regions of these
lands. This slave, this `nigger' as my brother read me the words, was
sorely wanted by the landowner, as the escaped man ranked as his most
prized property worker and `bull'.  The poster's exaggerated detail of the
beast (for no men in this world carry such weapons below their waists) was
drawn to express the particulars of what made this bull, this Prospero
Black, so desired for return by his master.  As it was, the escaped nigger
was hiding somewhere in New Orleans, and a reward was to be given to anyone
who had information on the runaway's whereabouts.

   This revelation unsettled me.  I was even more unnerved when my brother
-ever in search of new methods of making himself a bit of coin - toyed
before me the mad idea of pursuing the creature for the proposed bounty. 
The thought of such a man roaming free caused me tremble.  The thought of
chasing something so menacing through these strange foreign streets near
caused my knees to knock together.  That a man so frightening and unruly,
and in possession of a manhood that looked like it could satisfy a female
horse, caused my heart to beat rapidly.

   I immediately put down my brother's insane proposal and went after Inna,
hastily racing down the cobblestone streets in such a panicked state that
my brother had to almost sprint just to keep up.  Leaving Inna alone in
such a dangerous place, letting her roam around in a land that hosted such
vile and beastly men, I could not allow it.  I recalled how taken the
darker men of New Orleans were with her when we had arrived.  How their
hungry gazes fell to my Inna's bountiful lily white endowments, how they
glared at the curves of her dress like a pack of famished wolves.  Granted,
that bastard Hughes and his crewmen were guilty of a similar crime, yet it
never threatened or struck me as anything but crude men making crude jokes.
These black fellow however, though they do not speak or spoke very little
to my Inna, their eyes glowed with something...real.  I explain, a real
threat of taking my Inna for themselves, and using their powerful frames to
do all manner of vileness to my beloved Inna's gorgeous body.  That threat
I felt in the back of my mind I now realize upon our arrival to this
accursed place.  And to a beast like this Black, my Inna would likely be a
prize piece of prey.  I had to protect her Kostya, protect my wife from the
dangers of these heretic foreign lands, filled with their strange peoples
and customs and corrupt sea captains.



   The chaotic beating in my breast eased upon finally finding her.  She
had found her way to a particular shop that sold elegant dresses.  My
brother came up behind me moments after, nearly breathless from his pursuit
of me.  I was eased to find my wife safe and unharmed.  I ran to her and
expressed my relief of finding her unsullied by this town and its people.
Inna, naďve in the way a curious and innocent child would be, found my
fears to be ridiculous and completely unwarranted.  She expressed how she
was safe, and insisted I not be such a worrisome husband.  Then she brought
my attention to the Negress she had been conversing with in front of the
shop.  Kostya...when I say I have seen wondrous things over the course of
my journey.  Wonderous, terrible and heart-striking things during the
duration of this damned quest for financial gain, I almost epitomize it by
attempting to describe the dark skinned goddess my Inna had made
acquaintance with.  If only I'd known...us men are such fools for the lure
of women and their endowments.  She possessed the beauty and grace of the
goddess Ziva, and the physical health and bountifulness of Zaria, and was
matched with a mystique and unspeakable intrigue in her stark brown eyes of
all the Zorias.  She had rich and blemishless brown skin and breasts that
rounded and held large and high from inside her otherwise modest garments.



   Her almost supernaturally slim waist attested to a dainty femine build,
while her bare sturdy shoulders erotically contradicted of a hinted
strength doubtless gained from copious labor.  And if this weren't enough
to give me pause, her face was a portrait of unfettered foreign beauty the
likes of which I've never seen on a Negress.  It is possible she may have
been `mulatto', that is a `half-breed' to us in our native Russian.  I can
barely describe how striking and desirable her full lips, perfectly rounded
face, high cheek bones and piercing eyes looked.  I could barely bring
myself to utter a syllable when my brother - ever the bold pursuer of
women, big and small, black or white - introduced himself and me to the
Negress.  Her name was foreign, and one that I am still having trouble
spelling in the wake of what happened not long after this initial
encounter. My attempt to spell it is doubtlessly wrong.  A strange thing,
since it and the infamous - niet, accursed - name of Prospero Black has
been repeated over and over again by own lips like some sort of anti-prayer
or chant for the better part of a day now.  I am uncertain if the name is
spelled Mary, or Marie, perhaps even Mareie, and the surname - a haunting
brand doubtless being synonymous with `enchanter' or temptress - Lavoo,
Lovu, or perhaps Lav--

   *****



   "Babe, you hear me up there!?" Anya was shocked out of her trance of
reading.  She jumped, startled at the boom of the voice that came from
downstairs.



   "W-What?!" Anya shouted back, her knee jerk anger at being frightened by
Tom's sudden intrusion.



   "It's almost six o clock'.  Knowing you it's going to take three hours
for you to get ready."

   Anya gasped.  Had so much time really passed?  Had she really been
sitting in the attic that long reading these strange letters?  Apparently
so.  Time had just seemed to drop away in the face of such strange
revelations about Anya's family.  She'd never known of such an expedition
by her ancestors.  Her grandmother, nor her grandfather, not even her
father had told her about a Cherninov travelling to America before her.  It
was a fascinating tale to her.  Her ancestor Sergei, his brother and wife
Inna having made their way to America.  It made her wonder, and wonder more
about why her mother - who obviously knew the tale - had passed on the
letters to her in secret.  What happened to Sergei and his wife?  What went
wrong during their travel?  She was dying to know.  She wanted to keep
reading, but--

   "Anya, we gotta get a move on!"

   Anya sniffed in frustration.



   "Ok, ok, I'm coming!" she shouted behind her.



   She hastily collected the assortment of yellowed papers and placed them
back into the box.  Fascinating tale as it was, it would have to hold until
later.  Tonight was the night of Mr.Brooks' party, and tardiness - by word
of Miss Adela Laveau herself - would not be tolerated.  She got up from the
corner of the room where she was sitting.  Looking out through the small
window on the gable's end of the attic, she saw the glow of the waning sun
as it began to make its decent behind the hills of greater Coxville.  It
was the first time she realized that she could - from the left angle of the
window - actually see the hill where Mr.  Brooks' estate stood.



   In its completion, it looked high and beyond regal as it overlooked the
vast outstretch of Coxville county.  Even from a distance, Anya could tell
the place was gorgeous.  A white and black colonial styled mansion, fitted
with a beautiful green assortment making up a front side garden and hedges.
Settled just atop of the mountain, looking like the mansion was almost
watching over the rest of the town.  Anya's heartbeat jutted the slightest
bit.  It was the feeling one gets when they've been caught staring at
someone.  In that moment, while staring at the structure of the mansion,
when Anya felt that shock of `being caught'.  The feeling that eyes were on
her, gazing at her hard from...where?  The mansion?  Not possible, she was
entirely too far away and hidden from sight for anyone inside the Brooks
estate to her.  And all the same, the phantom sensation of eyes staring
back at her while she surveyed the mansion from afar continued.

   "Anya!" Broke in Tom's voice, breaking her out of her curious trance.



   "< For goddess sake, calm the fuck down you loud man!  > Anya cursed
back in Russian.



   "I don't know what you just said, but I know it wasn't nice.  Chop chop
honey, we've got a date with the richest man in town.  Get that model ass
of yours movin."



   Anya puffed her cheeks in a bratty pout aimed at no one, and collected
herself.  She then made her way downstairs and undressed herself in
preparation of a shower.  So many things running through her mind with the
unraveling mysteries of her family's past, that she didn't even notice the
strange, dingy red color that the sky took on as the sun slowly set on the
horizon and passed over Brooks manor.

   ...



   Tom White was right about one thing; his wife's preparation for the
party was a lengthy and time consuming process.  It had taken her near
thirty minutes just showering, rubbing every inch of her body with an array
of scented soaps, and going through her hair with sweet smelling shampoos
and conditioners.  In the end her medium toned skin glowed almost as much
her dark hair glossed with its raven sheen.  Her wardrobe was combed
through thoroughly, and several elegant numbers were dawned, and then
promptly taken off again.  Anya saw every social event she went to as a
kind of formal battle.  And her attire was this evening would serve as her
armor.  She proceeded to take the next hour and some plus minutes going
through a wave of potential outfits.  A tight fitting green dress which
seemed just a bit too formal.  A leggy - though a bit too casual- summer
dress.  The same outfit she had worn on the night of the girl's book club
meeting, which she - in a protective decision - decided against, for there
were far too many memories attached to article now that she did not wish to
revisit just then.  Penultimately it fell to a debate between a skin
hugging blue skirt which showcased the toned muscle and curves of her legs
and thighs to perfection, and an equally tight little black skirt that
seductively meshed with glossy raven hair and sultry allure of her dark
eyes.  In the end, the black dress won as the outfit of the evening.  Sexy,
but elegant, and put just enough of her exotic features on display that it
would make her stand out amongst the crowd.

   The amount of time it took for Anya to apply the perfect application of
makeup caused Tom to stir uncomfortably downstairs in the house living
room. Wearing a simple failsafe outfit of white shirt, black tie, slacks
and jacket, Tom consulted his watch nervously as he paced.

   "Anya, we're gonna be late!" he bellowed in frustration.  The downside
of having a former model for a wife, he'd deduced, was that the effort and
strain of taking her out in public almost never seemed worth the trouble.
Tom felt some vague sense of irony lying somewhere in that thought.

   "< Such an impatient man >" Anya grumbled in Russian when she finally
descended downstairs and into the house foyer.  Tom's jaw near dropped upon
setting eyes on her.  He gave a low whistle of approval.

   "Hoo~wee, they better have an ambulance on call, because you're gonna
cause a semi-pile up's worth of accidents honey." Anya blushed.

   "Is cute, da?  Not too much?" she asked coyly.

   "It's perfect." Tom replied.  In actuality he thought his wife's
clothing selection may have left a bit less to the imagination than the
night should have allowed.  But that was alright.  Tom wanted to make an
impression, and Anya was about as striking an accessory as a man could get.
Her cleavage sat firm and pert under the fabric of her black skirt, the
thin straps coming high around her sculptured shoulders, and the broach she
wore around her neck - the one Tom had given her as a `welcome home'
present on her first night in America - acted as the perfect lure for her
impressive chest.  The same trick applied to the hoop earrings she wore. 
They baited the observer to gaze at her jaw, which in turn led to her high
cheek bones before causing one's gaze to settle at her full lips, which
were coated with a ruby shade of lipstick.  Anya turned in place to give
Tom a 360 view of her evening attire.  Almost instantly he felt the early
jolts of an erection rise in his pants, and for a moment Tom toyed with the
idea of getting in a quick fuck before the party.  However, he put this
idea down when he took into consideration how - after fucking - Anya would
have to run upstairs and likely start the preparation process all over
again.  To his credit, Tom didn't look too shabby in his own right, Anya
thought.  Being a fit and clean cut man, Tom White was certainly considered
to be a prize catch among most women in Coxville.  Together they knew
they'd make for one of the most attractive couples at the party.  Soon
after they were out the door, with Tom taking a moment or two to admire his
wife's perfectly sculptured ass sway from side to side - punctuated with a
slight jiggle from each cheek - in that classically feminine shift of hips.
Walking to the car Tom let out another low whistle.  As she walked passed
him, he caught a whiff of her scent in the catch of air as it passed by
them.

   "Wow, you smell great too.  I'm gonna be the envy of every guy there, no
doubt about that."

   "What else would expect when wife is `doch iz Cherniderivo'?" Tom had
heard her use that phrase numerous times before.  He'd repeatedly asked her
what it meant, and repeatedly she'd just shoot him a coy flirtatious smile.
He just figured it was some kind of Russian slang for `sexy Russian bitch'
or `hot Russian minx'.  That's what it meant when he heard it anyway.  Anya
shot him a charmed - if a bit cocky - smirk of approval, and left the
matter at that.  Moments after, they were off to the abode of Coxville's
richest man, the elusive Mr.  Brooks.  ...

   The drive to Brooks' manor was a relatively quiet one.  Anya made some
last minute applications to her makeup, putting dabs of this and that while
looking in the passenger's overhead mirror.



   "You remember invitation, da?" asked Anya.



   "Da dear, they haven't gotten away from since the last time you
asked...all thirty seconds ago."



   "Just checkink.  We both know how bad you are with keepink track of
thinks." Anya paused when she spied the actual manor, her breath caught in
her throat.  The estate was immense!  Her view from the gable window in the
attic didn't even come close to doing the manor justice.  At two stories
plus, it was a monument to southern elegance and luxury.  It stood tall, a
broad colonial styled estate, decorated with a small garden that started
from the front and circled all the way around the property, almost marking
the full sum of square inches as `Brooks owned'.  As they approached - and
or the first time - Anya felt the slightest pang of nervousness take her in
the form a small knot settling in the deepest part of her stomach.  Tonight
was going to be important night for the White family.  Anya could feel that
in her bones.



   Small lights lined the way along a huge pathway and around the house
perimeter, and illuminated the manor in a way no other house in Coxville
did.  It had to be the brightest lit residence in the county.  The set of
lights at the front of the abode went in straight lined path that ended at
the steps of the huge arching doorway.



   "Man oh man...Brooks doesn't mess around with his digs" Tom confessed in
a low whistle.

   The opening of what was a huge side parking area near the right side of
the manor was blocked by a large metal gate that was being guarded (more or
less) by a young man of no older than nineteen.  The boy was - as Tom could
see - checking each car that drove up for invitations, and was wearing a
black and white concierge uniform.  Tom slowly drove up to the boy and
rolled his window down.



   "Invitation please?" said the boy in a cracked teenager's stammer.  His
voice instantly caught in his throat upon setting eyes on Anya.  Tom made a
slight show of retrieving the invitation and handing it to the boy.



   "Ah, Mr.  and Mrs.  White.  Mr.  Brooks is very happy you could make it
this evening."

   The entire time the boy spoke - a young fellow with messy brown hair and
a pock-marked face - Tom noticed he couldn't take his eyes off Anya's
bountiful cleavage.  His glance never wavering from his Russian bride's
full, lithe and curvy form nestled in the leather seat.



   "Uh-p-please, feel free to park anywhere along the marked area."



   "Thank you much, son" nodded Tom, not taking offense to the boy's less
than subtle ogling of his wife.  This was what Tom wanted after all. 
Attention to Anya meant attention for him.  The young man looking like he
was about to cream in his pants just at the mere sight of Anya reaffirmed
that fact.  Tom drove ahead, the gate closing automatically behind them,
and if Tom had bothered to look back at the young concierge, he just might
have noticed the boy's almost frantic attempt at trying to hide the meager
tent pitched in his pants upon greeting the next car that arrived.  Tom
settled the car between two others.  Both vehicles - as Tom abruptly
noticed - looked very similar to his own...though his (in Tom's opinion)
still considerably better.



   He an Anya exited the car and made their way to the front of the manor.
They crossed the lush, freshly tended garden, and Anya gasped at the up
close view of its beauty and scale.  She instantly understood why the
construction of the place had taken so long, and also why the various
builders and craftspeople she'd seen running all around this place in its
creation days had been so adamant about placing everything in just the
precise way according to Mr.  Brook's design.  It looked like an estate
that had come out of some other time.  Some other time, though fitted with
the proper modern exterior elements such as the stream of lights that would
be necessary for guests to enter the property.



   "You can only imagine how much dough he put down to get this place set
up." Said Tom, eyeing their surroundings.



   As they walked, Anya noticed movement up ahead.  Large shadows walking
around the manor.  A group of black suited guards were positioned along the
houses' perimeter.  They most definitely stood out, even despite being
dressed in stark black on such a dark and almost starless evening.  All of
them were big men - no - huge men by the look of them.  Their muscles
rippled and bulged from under their clothing.  All of them wore uniform
black suits, with matching ties and white undershirts that appeared
starched and creased to a near sharpened edge.  Tom noticed the guards a
moment after Anya did.



   "Hell, where'd Brooks pick up these guys from, the top of the bean
stalk?" Anya didn't follow Tom's meaning at first, and he was forced to
give her the abridged tale of Jack and the Bean Stalk.  Indeed, these men
were giants!  The smallest of them stood at an easy five-eleven, while of
the tallest of them towered at six-six!  Not only that, they were all about
as black as Anya had ever seen a man.



   "Wouldn't want to run into any of these guys in a dark alley at night."
Whispered Tom.  I'm glad Brooks' is payin these boys to be on our side. 
Place like this would probably attract a lot of negative attention from
other parts of town."

   Anya knew which part of town Tom was referring to, and she silently
nodded her head.  The dreaded `N-Town' or `Nigger Town' as some of the more
outspoken individuals within the suburban community called it.  Anya didn't
know much about that particular region of the county, but she knew from Tom
- as well as everyone else living in their neighborhood - she was to never
- under any circumstances, go there alone...ever.  They spoke with such
fervor and certainty that Anya had heeded the warning without as much as a
`why'.



   She wrapped an arm around Tom's in a gesture of wanted protection as
they walked between two of the guards standing watch.  Though she knew they
were safe here at the manor, she subtly tightened her grip on her the purse
she carried at her side as well.  Of the five men that Anya saw, the two
who they'd passed first ranked among the largest.  They stood just in front
of the ascending set of stairs below the grand arching doorway, their arms
folded in front of them like silent black sentinels.  They looked at the
couple with scanning dark brown eyes.  Anya was unsettled by their glances,
as she felt that they lingered for perhaps a bit longer than they needed to
on Anya's body.



   "Sir...Ma'am" came the two guards in unison.



   "At ease boys" smirked Tom, a bit more snark on his tongue than was
necessary.

   Their features were strong; wide noses, thick jaws, huge arms and hands,
and squared shoulders that gave them an almost overwhelming aura of
strength as Anya observed.  Indeed, Brooks had hired giants to watch over
them tonight.  The probing and appraising looks they'd given her and Tom
unsettled her, yet she was - in fact - oddly comforted by the fact that
they would be the ones watching over them tonight.  The dark giants keeping
an unwavering vigil outside, while the well-to-do upper class men and women
of Coxville partied and socialized inside.  As Tom and Anya went up the
stairs - old styled oaken steps - they noticed the third guard standing in
front of the large white double doors.



   "Invitation sir?" Asked the man, another large and burly suited Negro,
in a deep bass tone.



   "Sure thing" said Tom with a smirk, letting go the slight of having to
show his invitation twice.

   The guard observed the slip of decorated parchment, and gave the couple
a final - half-suspicious glance- before nodding his head approvingly.

   "Mr.  and Mrs.  White..." the man bellowed in his deep voice after
another moment of silence.  "We're honored to have you as our guests
tonight", said the guard.



   "Why, thank you much sir." said Tom.



   "Please, enter..."

   And with that, the guard - in a single turn of his huge hand - opened
the golden doorknob of one of the double doors, giving them passage into
the house proper.



   "Enjoy your evening."



   "Oh, we will son, we will..." replied Tom with a dismissive wave of his
hand.

   As the couple passed, Anya only half-noticed the guard's sneer at Tom's
head, and didn't notice at all how approvingly the guard observed the
luscious orbs of her ass as he closed the manor door behind them.

   "Tom..." said Anya, "why you talk such way to guards?  Is rude, da?"



   "Nah, not really", replied Tom in a smirk of certainty.  He leaned in
and surreptitiously whispered into her ear.  "Those guys get paid to take
crap from us."

   Anya cocked an eyebrow at this; uncertain of how true it held.  She'd
never had servants or anything of the like in her previous life within
Cherniderivo, and the American customs she'd come to know of the upper
class often seemed strange to her.



   "Brooks is probably paying them a mint just to keep us happy.  And
hell..." Tom scanned the expanse of the room, turning his left and then
right.  "Compared to some of this old white Coxville money that's walking
around tonight, me doing a bit of razing the way I did is likely gonna be
the most polite thing those boys hear all night."

   As Tom said this, he surveyed the grounds and the crowd that populated
it.  The Brooks estate was simply astonishing!  The large golden chandelier
beamed a white - but rather warm - light down on the manor foyer, an
immaculately furbished, brilliantly painted piece of southern styled
architecture.  The room was lit perfectly, and showcased some of the finer
pieces present.  The walls had been painted a gorgeous crčme color, and the
marble floor was strewn about them near sparkled in a black and white
checkered pattern that was clear enough that one could see his or face own
face in the tiles.  There was large decorated serving table settled to the
far side of the room which held a huge spread of delectable looking dishes.
Pastries and meats, appetizers and gourmet treats that could have only been
crafted by expert chefs.  The room glowed with the aura and scent of high
end allure.  The work that Miss Laveau and staff had been maddeningly
enfolded in had paid off in spades.  It was lavish, but not over the top.
Regal but not opulent, and held solid oak furnishings that hinted of a
deeply rooted love of southern roots.  It stood above anything people had
ever seen constructed in way of homes within the county, yet it still
seemed to fit right in with Coxville's aesthetic charm.



   At the center of the giant foyer was an assortment of comfortable
looking plush couches, love seats, and a small collection of large stylized
chairs all facing an oaken coffee table that was placed in the center of
the array.  The assortment of seats all faced each other in an inward
circle, and beneath it all lay a huge beautiful black woven rug.  A larger
number of guests had positioned themselves in this area and were engaging
in small talk.  Anya looked ahead and above her in wonder at the rest of
the manor.  Lilting orchestral music played from unseen speakers positioned
somewhere overhead.  The gentle plucking and running of cello and violin
strings that sounded vaguely familiar to her, and giving the manor an
almost ballroom like feel.



   The diverting stairway on the far ends ahead in the room were both
blocked off by velvet ropes clasped onto erected black stands.  This hinted
to the raven haired Russian that - while more than willing to go that extra
mile for his guests - Mr.  Brooks wasn't about to altogether relinquish his
privacy.  She respected that, finding it to be a distinguished choice on
his part.  All in all, the place looked like something out of the old fairy
tales she read as a girl.  The gorgeous keep of a king who was hosting a
ball fit for a princess.  She near swooned at the thought of living in such
a place.



   "This house is..." She began, Tom's signature whistle cutting in where
her English failed.  "Bozche moi!"

   If this Mr.  Brooks is anything like his house, he must be one
impressive man, Anya thought.  She would never admit it out loud, but if
this Brooks fellow had been living in Coxville earlier, around the time
she'd first moved from Russia, she'd have seriously reconsidered her
arrangement with Tom.  It sounded terrible in her mind, but Anya couldn't
fight her attraction to the sheer scale and elegance of this place.  A
further observation showed many of the guests had already arrived, and were
making conversation with one another.



   They talked and laughed about one another silently, while doing their
best to appear as unrattled as possible by how superior the Brooks estate
was to their own.  And all around them were nothing short of the finest men
and women in town.  All of them dressed down in the finest silks, satins,
cottons and such.  All smiling white faces, from middle aged to what would
be politely stated as `wizened' rather than old.  It was only twenty
minutes passed nine, and already the party was nearing full swing.  Of the
guest nearly all of them had shown up.  Those who didn't would be the
subject of negative discourse for weeks to come.



   Tom took a moment to point out several of the more notable characters
present.  They were all important figures within the Coxville community in
one way or another.  Some more important than others, and others trying to
make themselves appear more important than they knew themselves to be. 
Almost everyone had arrived with their significant other in tow.  The owner
of the first County bank and his beautifully tall brown haired wife.  The
assistant to the mayor of Coxville, along with his twin daughters two
atheletically built brunettes in their mid twenties.  The sheriff of the
Coxville Police department and his voluptuous - if slightly plump - black-
haired vision of a wife.  As the night went on, Anya gradually began to
notice a peculiar trend in the cast of the evening.  With the women present
at the party to be exactl



   Anya noticed that that all the wives - at the very least the ones who
Tom insisted on pointing out to her - , by some very strange common trait,
had very large breasts.  The average size - as she saw it - were D's, and
were showcased in various methods through slits, dress tops and all manner
of cleavage adorned through fitted dresses and skirts.  It somewhat made
sense that the most beautiful women of Coxville would have married the most
powerful men, with their daughters in inheriting their mother's physical
endowments, It wasn't until seeing them all occupying the same space that
she'd noticed the abundance of breasts and rounded hips that apparently
existed within the community.  Anya supposed, herself hailing from a
community where large breasts and well endowed women were common, that this
trend simply slipped passed her.  The revelation might have rattled her
confidence if she weren't well aware of her own immense pair of mammeries.



   Its almost like back home, she thought.  Mama, her sisters Sonya and
Katya, all of her aunts on her mother's side of the family, and - hell -
she even recalled her grandmother being equip with particularly large
breasts in photos she'd seen of her in her youth.  Strange, the raven
haired Russian thought.  Strange how these small towns bear such well
endowed women...



   The guests, close to twenty in number, upon Anya and Tom's arrival, had
noticed the couple's entry, despite their best attempts not to notice.  It
was harder for the men in the room not to take notice of Anya walking
sultrily inside her stunning black number.  Her medium skin and exotic dark
eyes stood out among the milieu of blue and green eyes and lily white skin
that most of the women had.



   Tom meanwhile had immediately taken notice of the seven, drop dead
gorgeous hostesses that were walking to and fro across the room.  They were
all clad in simple yet very classy looking service uniforms of short
sleeved white button-down blouses, high black skirts that showed much of
the women's youthful curves and flawless thighs, and matching heels that
perfectly punctuated their calve and leg muscles.  Tom noticed they were
all carrying trays strewn with an array of rich delicacies and fancily
prepared alcoholic drinks that the guests were simply ravenous in eating
and drinking up.  Crab cakes, buttered and baked treats, sautéed morsels
that caused guests faces to melt in delight.



   "Well well" Tom said, his voice hushed just beneath the general tambour
of the room.  "Looks like even the mayor and the `mother of Coxville'
herself is gracing us with their presence tonight" said Tom, his eyes
settling on a particular collection of guests in the room.



   Tom subtlety guided Anya's glance to the sight an older (teetering into
elderly) pair of man and woman standing in one corner of the estate lobby.
The man was a rather dumpy, though finely suited gentleman in his mid to
late fifties.  His hair was but a solid ring of silver that swirled around
the spherical top of his shiny bald head.  He had hawkish facial features.



   A downward slopping nose, thin lips curled in a permanent fake campaign
poster smile, and blue eyes that displayed a politician's tact, and about
as much humor.  Henry Van Buskirks, the mayor of Coxville County himself,
was here.  He held a thick brown cigar in the side of his mouth as though
he had been born with it, and his thick belly fat jiggled as he laughed at
some remark the bald mayor's assistant next to him had made.



   "Old Van Buskirks."



   "He is town mayor, da?" said Anya.



   "Yep.  It's no surprise he's here.  The kind of capital and resources
Brooks is sitting on could make reelection a cake walk for the old coot."



   The woman standing next to the mayor struck Anya as far more pleasing to
the eye.  She was tall and had a mane of glorious blond hair that pooled
down to her exceptionally trim back.  She wore an elegant dress which -
Anya silently confessed - most women her age would kill to be able to walk
around in in public.  Its tight cut and slim fit showcased the older
woman's shapely and very healthy looking curves and - most striking to Anya
- her immense round breasts.  While the gathering of women all seemed to be
in possession of large healthy mammories, this older beauty seemed to stand
above the lot with the biggest pair!  Age had certainly not broken this
woman's physique.  It was remarkable, as the woman's gorgeous figure defied
the lines, crow's feet and scant scattering of wrinkles worn here and there
on her face.



   "Mrs.  Candy Cox herself.  Former `Miss Dairy' from 69-71, poster-woman
for Coxville County." pointed out Tom.



   "Is very beautiful, Mrs.  Cox" said Anya, the name `Cox' sounding like
"Cooks".



   "Mayor Van Buskirks has been trying to get into her pants since high
school they say.  Looks like the old geezer's still at it, even after
marrying Mrs.  Van Buskirks."

   And as if on cue, the mayor's wife came into view from the crowd,
walking into the gathered socializing circle holding a glass of black
colored wine, the relaxed and slightly hazed expression on her face hinting
that it hadn't been her first drink of the evening.  Mrs.  Van Buskirks -
Ronda to the few who earned her as a close enough acquaintance - was also
blonde, tall and almost equally remarkable in shape for a woman her age. 
Almost...but not quite as incredible as Mrs.Cox.



   Ronda was more of lithe musculature type in her body than in the
shorter, shapelier figure of Mrs.  Cox.  Arguably the mayor's wife had
firmer legs and rounder hind quarters than her fellow party-goer.  She wore
her hair in a high bee-hive haircut that made her look perhaps more
conservative than expected, and carried an aristocratic poise that teetered
dangerously close to arrogance by Anya's observation.  While beautiful,
there was a faintly foreboding facial expression permanently creased on her
face.  It made her look significantly less charming while she stood next to
Miss Candy, who always seemed to be wearing a warm smile on her aged face.
It made the mayor's wife look permanently annoyed with something, or
someone.  Anya theorized that this frustration hailed from the Mayor's
incessant flirtations with Mrs.  Cox.



   Anya couldn't help but notice how similar Mrs.  Cox and Mrs.  Van
Buskirks looked to each other.  Both of them blond, same shade of blue
eyed, and carrying an amazing figure that Anya would have sworn must have
been the boon of family genes.  Anya asked Tom if the two women were in
fact related, to which Tom replied plainly,



   "Nah.  Men in Coxville just have a thing for blondes."



   "And you're thinkink somehow you're different for marryink Russian girl,
no?"

   Tom chuckled, "Nothin like that babe.  I just know a better breed of
woman when I see one is all."

   Tom smirked at her, trying to turn on the charm in the wake of realizing
he'd made his way into a den of Coxville's finest.  He kissed her on the
cheek, and Anya playfully nudged Tom before telling him to continue with
the night's cast.  The mayor's daughter - Natalie Van Buskirks - the
spitting image of her mother in beauty and physique.  Natalie stood just a
few feet further away from the trope of old people, being polite about
having to be around so many old people - her parents especially - and an
only somewhat forced smile carved onto her face that hinted the young lady
was concerned if `uncool' was contagious.



   A vision of gorgeous youth at a healthy 19 years, Tom figured that
Natalie had been dragged her by her parents to keep up appearances of being
the happy conservative family.  And - likely - to brush shoulders with a
few of the younger up-and-comers in town with the prospect of getting to
know his daughter on a more personal - and political lucrative - level.  By
all appearances however, they were the poster family for Coxville's
southern aristocracy.  Ronda and Candy engaged in a light hearted
conversation.  One filled with perhaps a bit too much smiling and phonier
laughter than was needed.  Natalie meanwhile could help a subtle rolling of
her eyes at the pair, while the Mayor tried his hand at playing referee.



   Tom's sight wander to the opposite end of the room.  To his surprise - a
very scrawny, very nerdy looking young black man was present.  He hadn't
the foggiest idea who this young man - likely eighteen- was, but his thick
rimmed glasses and droopy facial features gave him an almost cartoonish
quality that Tom immediately felt didn't fit with the beauty of the
gathered cast at al.  Tom had sworn he'd seen this kid's face on TV.  A
particular family sitcom from some years back, and on a character named
Urkel.



   "Don't know how in the Sam hill he got invited..." Tom said, nudging his
head in the direction of the boy.

   The nerd - revealed later to him to be none other than N-Town's own
local genius Melvin - was decked out complete in a pair of high hemmed
slacks, crčme colored under shirt and brown tweed jacket.  His ensemble was
complete with a bow tie that hung tight around his neck, and was so
brightly colored as to make the eyes of any observer almost feel assaulted.
Melvin was having a conversation with -to Tom's immediate delight- Miss
Adela Laveau herself.  Miss Laveau looked downright stunning - ebony sex on
two legs -in a pure white dress that hugged tightly to her meaty hips and
the twin moons of her bountiful ass, an attractive gold belt fashioned to
look like a thin chain looped around her 40 inch hips, the solid muscles of
her calves accentuated by the stylish black high heels she wore.



   Tom had wanted nothing more than to fuck her with everything he had the
first day they'd met.  Opening his front door to see her smiling
countenance and goddess-like body standing before him with his party
invitation had near been enough to make him nut in his pants on general
principle.



   Tom had never found black women particularly attractive; too hard to
please in bed and far too much attitude about them, but Miss Laveau was one
choice piece of chocolate he'd love to take a stab at.  She smiled and made
small talk with the nerd, a brown skinned vision engaging in tete a tete
with what looked like an oversize toad equip with a waifish build.  She was
most likely just indulging the young Negro, making him feel at least a
little bit welcome to the party.  This made sense to Tom, as Melvin was the
only real person of color besides Adela, the guards outside, and (lest he
forget) the simply gorgeous light skinned black girl who - a hostess among
the seven- Tom had noticed upon entering.  He'd been charmed by the fact
the caramel hottie wasn't afraid to give him a playful wink - despite being
with his wife- while passing by him with a silver plate of crab cakes in
one hand, and the other placed daintily on her inviting swaying hips.



   In Melvin's case, Adela was likely being doubly nice on account he was
easily the youngest person at the party.  He can't be any older than 17 or
so, thought Tom.  The closest person the black bookworm had to a peer was
the Mayor's daughter Natalie, who hadn't given him so much of a glance that
evening.  Tom almost felt sorry for the kid.  He looked harmless enough. 
Upon observing how spirited and perky Miss Laveau was before the young
Negro however - her flawless smile settled on Melvin's impish one -, Tom's
sympathy sank.  A woman like that paying attention to a dweeb like Melvin?
That was a boon from God himself as far as Tom saw.



   Also engaging in the conversation - to Tom's equaled surprise - was
Bobbie Sue Kindle, along with her husband Richard.  Tom had known Bobbie
aka `Boobie' Sue from high school.  They were never particularly close, but
he always did admire her womanly bits and thought her bookworm exterior
masked the bedroom antics of a wild woman.  A fantasy which Tom was never
able to make come true, despite several efforts in his youth.  As Tom went
down the list of the remaining guests present and accounted for, he
realized that Mr.  Brooks - the man of the evening - was nowhere in sight.



   "Still no sign of the man of the evening" said Tom to his wife.



   "I no see him either", replied Anya.  He is...how to say, a `no
show'...Wait minute..." she then added abruptly.  "What Mr.  Brooks even
look like?  I have not yet seen much as photo of him."



   Tom's head actually popped in wonder and revelation.  What did Mr.Brooks
look like?  It had never really even occurred to him to ask Miss Laveau
before.



   "I..." he began, "That's actually a really good question."

   The county had heard many rumours pertaining to the particulars on
Mr.Brooks' appearance.  Some said he was very tall, others said he was very
short, some said he was as sknny as a rail, the equivalent of 'mad genius'
frail that genius were often written as, and some - though a very few -
cited the man as being a very muscular fellow.  'A giant in physique' as
the yarn went.



   "He'll be here", assured Tom, more to himself than to Anya.  "This is
his party after all.  He's probably just waiting to make a dramatic
entrance or something." Anya simply nodded.The couple walked into the fray
of conversation among the other guests.  Things fell into a casual flow as
Tom and Anya shook hands with the great and the good making up Coxville. 
The men marveled at Anya's beauty, and the women were all too quick to
compliment and bring her into their effeminate fold.  Miss Laveau made her
rounds, thanking each guest for being able to make it out that evening, and
Tom made it a point to give her a playful hug of greeting upon her making
her way to their cluster of party-goers.



   "Tom darling!" cooed Adela, far more casual and excited than he'd ever
heard the stacked and packed black woman.  Adela made it a point to give
him a showy affectionate hug of greeting upon her making her way to their
section of party-goers.

   "So glad you could make it.  Oh, and Anya darling, you looked simply
stunning in that dress!"

   Anya blushed, loving the attention.



   "Thank you.  You look stunnink yourself Miss.  Laveau.  White most
definitely is your color." She replied in kind.



   "Oh..." Adela replied, looking down at herself as she'd just realized
what she'd been wearing.  "This old thing?  I figured it would work for
tonight.  White just seemed...fitting for the occassion.  I'd give anything
to have what you've got on though."



   "You wearing a dress like Anya's would likely cause a riot Miss Laveau"
chuckled Tom.



   "A riot?  Well, that's not what we're aiming for tonight." the black
woman replied sheepishly.



   "We're just glad we got invited to the show", said Tom.



   "Yes, well we've got quite a show planned tonight." Said Miss Adela. 
"And it can't happen without you.  Not without all of you here to celebrate
with us."



   "So..." came Tom hesitantly, "Any word on when the big man himself will
make a cameo?  Though I'm not at all complaining about having you with us
tonight." Tom didn't want to jump the ship and pry into Brooks'
whereabouts, but he did want to know if the man himself would show up.



   "Oh yes" Adela replied cheerfully.  "Mr.  Brooks will be with us soon
enough.  He's very..." Adela trailed off, searching for a fitting end to
her sentence."Concerned in that all the guests are given time to get
comfortable.  Relaxed and allowed to enjoy each other's company."



   "I see" said Tom, glad to hear that Brooks would actually make an
appearance that night.  "As long as you're with us, I don't think that'll
be a problem."

   Adela smiled, and playfully nudged Tom in the stomach.



   "Oh, you flatterer you!  Anya dear, you better keep an eye on this one.
He's trouble."



   "Oh I well aware", Anya replied.  "More trouble than worth sometimes."



   "Oh please, you know you love me." chuckled Tom, a boyish smile creeping
over his face as he playfully grabbed at Anya's curvy hips.

   They all laughed, sharing a moment.



   "Forgive my sounding forward in saying this," began Adela, taking
another sip of her snifter of black wine, "but if you two aren't the most
attractive couple here, I'd be stumped as to who is."

   This caused both Tom and Anya to blush in unison.



   "Speakink of which" said Anya.  "What of yourself Miss.  Laveau-"



   "Please" Laveau interrupted, "tonight I'm Adela.  This may be the wine
talking, but keeping up formalities on a night like tonight is going to get
old, sooner rather than later."

   Tom and Anya were slightly taken aback to hear this, but all the same
they both nodded, and Anya continued.



   "Adela..." she said, hesitant at the sound of her own voice, "and what
of yourself?  I'm sure you're havink husband or boyfriend."



   "Me?" replied Adela, a girlish look of surprise framing her gorgeous
brown features.  "No no, not at all."



   "Oh come on." chimed in Tom.  "No one?  A woman like you?  It sounds
almost criminal.  You could have any man you wanted given my best guess."



   "You'd think..." Adela muttered.  "But no, I'm entirely too busy with my
work and investment in the company to worry about things like romance."



   "Criminal" repeated Tom, "simply criminal.  Not a single man alive would
be labeled smart for letting you get away."

   Adela giggled, "You are simply too much a charmer Mr.  White."



   "Come with the territory of being in sales" said Tom.  "People are far
more willing to give you what you want when you make them feel good about
themselves."



   "I see..." replied Adela, a smirk forming on her face.  "And what is you
want me to do for you Mr.White?"

   The seductive dip that Adela's voice took, a slippery sultry dive into
the ears, made Tom's heartbeat spike.  The subtle flutter of her eyes
caught Tom off guard, and for a moment he worried if Anya -still held
against him at the hips- would feel the rising erection in his pants.  What
wouldn't I want you to do to me with that body, he thought.



   "I..." Tom began, but his brain couldn't form a response.  "N-nothing at
all Miss La-I mean, Adela.  I'm just being polite's all."



   "Hmmm...most salesmen make it a point to be polite when they think
they've got a sale on the hook."

   Tom gulped.  He could give a crude guess as to why he was suddenly so
nervous.  The black woman's voice was sex made audible.  Anya was looking
on in curiousity of the exchange, perhaps not catching the inneundo of the
chat.



   "You'll forgive me for being blunt Adela, but I think that wine you're
drinking there's got you hearing things in ways they aren't intended."



   "Perhaps..." Adela said toyignly, "Or maybe I've got an angle or two
around salesmen that you didn't quite account for."

   She winked, and Tom had to shift himself away from Anya so she wouldn't
feel the wood of his boner press against the cheek of her ass.  He wasn't
trying to explain his random erection to his firey Russian wife while
engaging in a bit more than flirtatious exchange with the beyond sexy
Negress.  No way was Tom trying to have that argument on the way home.

   In a desperate effort for a change of subject, Tom complimented Adela on
the state of the manor.



   "Yes..." she said, almost sounding unimpressed with the result while
taking yet another sip of her snifter.  "Everything turned out well enough.
It was a little touch and go for a little while, but I think we pulled it
off quite nicely at the end of all things.  I hope its all to your liking."

   Adela's modesty made Tom and Anya laugh.



   "Way more than that.  I don't think there's a dissatisfied face in the
house" said Tom, scanning the room again.



   "And your hostessess..." he began, and gave serious consideration to
what he was about to say.  "The seem to be very...capable."

   Adela smirked at this.  "Ah yes, visions aren't they".  Adela looked
around the room, eyeing each of the seven girls as they gracefully strode
the foyer offering refreshment to the guests.  They moved smoothly through
the room, never failing to jostle a smile or lingering glance from their
patrons.  Tom noticed that they each had their own way - their own unique
method - of working the crowd, of gaining the trust and affection from the
guests.



   The tall red head, Tammy as her gold and black nametag red, made it a
point to affectionately rub the arms and shoulders of those she served.  If
her openly warm smile and boistrously pleasant personality didn't make her
stand out before the guests, her huge tightly packed breasts and long thick
legs most certainly did.  Mariah, the beautiful asian, allowed her gentle
features and gracefully subservient mannerisms to serve in her pleasing the
crowd.  Tom had seen first hand Tanya's - the high yellow Negress - sassy
yet playfully seductive style of winning over her patrons.  Marisol, the
spanish looking beauty, simply let her dark latin eyes, smooth voice, and
remarkable athletic body hidden in plain view beneath her uniform do her
bidding.



   The bubbly big breasted blonde - Deliliah - simply allowed her cheery
(at times stereotypically dim-witted) personality paired with her pig tails
act as her charm.  The gorgeous green eyed Kami stood out for her uncommon
valley accent, along with her stunning movie starlet good looks and award
winning bubble butt to turn heads in the room.And last -but most certainly
not least- was the one known as Merissa, who altogether held a command over
the room with nothing more than the sheer gravitas of mystery that hung
about her.  Her dark mesmerizing eyes, statuesque body and silent demeanor
made the men - the older one in particular - stir in infatuation.  She
didn't utter a word, and secluded her answers to verbal responses with
simple nods and subtle facial expression.



   "The night's still young, but they come highly recommended from one of
Mr.  Brooks' associates.  They've hosted several parties like this before."



   Tom's gaze settled back on Adela, "Parties like this?  For Mr.  Brooks?"

   The gears in Tom's head immediately started turning.  He figured if
these hostesses - total hotties every single one of them - had worked a
previous party for Mr.  Brooks in the past, then it shouldn't be too hard
charming one of them into giving him the scoop of the evening's elusive
host.



   "Well..." Adela began, "Not EXACTLY like this one.  Mr.  Brooks has
gatherings similar to this from time to time for his other associates. 
Different states, different companies.  They're more for combing the
landscape for resources and making our partners feel secure during large
endeavors.  Not nearly as intimate as this one."

   Tom had to fight blanching at that one.  Intimate, this?  He thought. 
Most of the guests here can barely stand each other.  The rest are just
hoping for a chance to suck up to Brooks for funding.



   "It marks quite a large turn in Mr.  Brooks' life" said Adela, her tone
and manner suddenly become more somber, more contemplative.



   "How so?" asked Anya.  "Is not simple...how to say...'Meet and Greet'
for Mr.Brooks?  Him sayink hello to important Coxville people?"



   Adela's choice rose into a subdued chuckle.



   "No my dear.  This isn't a something a small or trivial as a 'Meet and
Greet' for Mr.  Brooks...not at all."



   "Well, what is it then?" asked Tom, genuinely curious now.



   "It is a homecoming."

   This gave the couple a moment of pause.  What did Adela mean by that
exactly?  Was she joking?  Was she drunk?  They both waited for her to go
on, to explain.  When a few moments of awkward silence passed, Anya decided
to change the subject.



   "This place" began Anya, "Is like mansion in fairy tale.  You and Mr. 
Brooks must be proud, da?  Beink such a...how to say...strong couple?"

   At that Laveau roared with laughter.



   "Oh dear, Anya you're just the sweetest thing.  You two just refuse to
believe me when I tell you I'm single."



   "Well, its either that, or Mr.Brooks has a hell of a lot more trust in
you than he does anyone else in his company." said Tom.



   "I know it must seem that way at times, considering how active I am with
his daily activities.  But I assure you, myself and Mr.Brooks simply work
together on the most professional of plutonic relationships.  We both aim
for bettering the company, expanding out various venture, spreading our
influence and-"

   Adela stopped to take a slight sip of the white wine she'd been nursing.
"It just so happens that I've invested quite a bit of time, energy and
quite a lot of money into making our Mr.Brooks the best businessman he can
be.  I've more than a good reason to make sure he stays at the top of his
game.  There's nothing harder than being on top."

   Tom and Anya were fascinated by this change in Adela's tone.  Until now
she'd been so proper and formal.  This new, candid Miss Laveau - whether
through comfort of knowing her venue had had the right effect on guests, or
perhaps the enjoyment of too much wine - seemed more cheeky than anything
else, dare they say...almost cocky with that last remark.  Adela took
another long sip, finishing the snifter.



   "It takes a very particular woman to drive a man to be at his best.  An
introvert like Brooks doesn't make the cover of Forbes on good ideas and
shyness alone, on that you can quote me."

   Adela leaned in close to Anya.  "I have a feeling you know exactly what
I'm talking about, da Anya honey?"

   Anya blushed again, though she kept her response to a quick chuckle.



   "Haha, I suppose a good woman is a plus for a powerful man." agreed Tom.

   Tom placed a hand around his wife, perhaps making the smallest
comparison between himself and Mr.  Brooks.

   "Speaking of which.  Any word on when exactly the big man himself will
make a cameo?"

   Tom didn't wish to pry into Brooks' whereabouts, the last thing he
wanted was to appear like these other old vultures circling the party as
though it were a fresh kill.  He'd been trying to keep calm and act as cool
as possible upon arriving, but he did want to know if the man himself would
show up.  The nuggets of info Adela had dropped had been just enough to
drive his curiosity into near madness.

   "Oh yes" Adela replied cheerfully.  "Mr.Brooks will be down soon enough.
He is very..." Adela trailed off, searching for a fitting end to her
sentence.  "Insistent, that all the guests are given time to settle in and
get comfortable.  Relaxed and allowed to enjoy each other's company to the
fullest."

   "I see" said Tom, glad to hear that Brooks would actually make an
appearance that night.  "Its a little tough to relax knowing where in the
home of a corporate titan."

   Adela laughed again, her charming smile showing her pearly white teeth.



   "Corporate titan, I like that.  We've been working about as hard as
Atlas getting some of these ventures off the ground."



   "I'm dead serious.  From a business standpoint its genius.  The man is
already killing it in the business world right now.  You've been there up
close for the whole thing.  Throwing this party for us?  Getting us all the
people of note together like this?  Brilliant.  Coxville County gets put on
the map for being the new home to one of the wealthiest men in the country.
He wins the favor of the conservative southern states for being a man of
the people, and in the end everyone gets paid.  Pure genius.  The old money
can't complain about that, and the new money can relate to him.  After
tonight, Brooks is gonna be seen as a god around here.



   And at this, Adela smiled again, brightly.  And one might have figured
it may have simply been the euphoric affects of the wine, but in that smile
Tom couldn't help but notice the mischievious, dare he almost said,
sinister gleam that showed in Laveau's expression and dark brown eyes.



   "A god..." she said, lingering on the word as though tasting it.  "Well,
that would be something..."

   ...



   All was silent in the White home.  Anya and Tom White were gone,
socializing with the high end toast of the town.  Todd White was at
Coxville High, following reluctantly on the heels of Deon, LD and Stubby as
they went over (for what must have been the hundredth time) their plan of
entry and exit for crashing the fancy gathering.  The lights in the humble
suburban home all off, its silence broken only by the steady baying of
crickets, and not a sign of life to be found inside.  No one around to
interact with the home or its many items and trappings.  And in the attic
of the White home, a strange little thing happened.  Movement, subtle and
silent.  Nothing that would have been considered odd to the degree of
meriting attention.  Simply a random bit of movement that often occurs in
homes from the elements of wind and gravity.



   The stack of letters Anya had been reading and then hastily abandoned to
prepare herself for the party sat.  Stacked faced down atop the cumbersome
black box.  In the slightest jostle of air, the papers suddenly stirred. 
Caught on some unseen wind - a wind that couldn't have possibly come from
the windows, for they were closed - the papers fluttered in a tiny gust. 
Free of any seen hand and once face down, on the exact page Anya turned. 
Turned as though touched by invisible hands, and gently flipped as though
it were the next page in a story book.  A very small strangeness indeed,
unnoticable on most counts, and one which only served to convey this
smallest fact; that though the White home stood empty, the story that had
been written on the guarded pages carried from Cherniderivo on the
insistence of Anya's mother, continued...

   --Or pehaps Laveau.  Again, the spelling of these foreign names
confounds me.  At any rate, I was haunted and - by my shameful confession-
very much aroused at the form of this Negress.  My wife had told me this
woman had approached her whilst enjoying her afternoon stroll through town.
This temptress, this Marie, after giving her a hail of compliments, had
convinced my Inna to browse through a selection of foreign jewelry that had
been crafted from the available elements of the Deep South.  Before us was
a table holding many exotic pieces which the Negress sold at varying
prices. Rings and bracelets, broaches and arm bands of curious designs and
patterns.  My Inna had been in the process of trying on one particular
piece when I had arrived; a gracefully decorated broach adorned with five
pointed ends facing downward.



   Inna found herself quite taken with the piece of jewelry, and the Marie
woman agreed that on her, it looked simply stunning.  If there was one bit
of truth which could be gleaned from that wretched woman's hail of
deceptive bile, it was that.  Though I was outwardly terse in my own
verdict on the item - the stress and worry over the beast of New Orleans
having scraped my nerves raw - I too found the broach to be rather fetching
on my wife.  The five downward pointing ends of the emerald adornment
guided the observer's eyes to the wearer's chest.  And on my Inna's
bountiful chest, it simply struck the viewer's gaze as almost hypnotic.  My
attraction to the piece and its accentuating my wife's features left me
frigid however.  Caution was my primary concern.  With a mad escaped slave
running the streets of New Orleans, I did not wish to take any risks on my
Inna making herself a target of theft.



   I denied my wife's purchasing of the piece, and insisted we head back to
the inn and wait for Captain Hughes to arrive with news of when we would
depart for the second leg of our voyage.  The subsequent protests which
came from her would have been enough to make any man buckle.  The ruckus
caused several onlookers to actually observe the tumult.  As you are well
aware friend Kostya, when a doch iz Cherniderivo works herself into a huff,
people notice.  Her Russian stood out in the streets as she rebuked my
wishes to leave, and I briefly caught the low mumble of several men in the
streets observing my Inna's heated display with a kind of deviant glee, my
poor English making out the words from one Negro man,



   `Great big ol' fire burnin in dat one', and `Guess dem foreigners got
dey own breed a sista out dere."

   But alas, I held firm and explained (if somewhat falsely) that the piece
would have been too expensive on our budget.  And then the woman, that
Marie, spoke.  She told us, her bright white teeth and beaming brown
countenance warm and kind, though rife with deceit; that we could have the
broach, free of charge and with her most genuine blessing.  I was beyond
skeptical of this gesture, for who would give such a finely crafted piece
away for nothing?  The black woman went on to explain her giving the broach
to us as a gesture of friendship, between the beautiful foreign people of
Russia, and their humble black hosts of New Orleans.  Inna's face flushed
with delight and gratitude, and she could not stop thanking the brown
skinned vision, in her native Russian as well as her meager bit of English.
My brother stood by silent, shrugging his shoulders at what he saw to
simply be a simple act of kindness from a native of these strange lands.

   I however, knew better.  My innate distrust of the dark vixen must have
betrayed me in the form of my gaze, for the ebony temptress looked upon me
with those deep brown pools making up her eyes, and said to me in her
hypnotic low voice;



   "Does my gift to your wife leave you ill at ease good sir?  Do you
distrust my good will?"

   After my brother translated the question, I replied, though only after
telling my brother not to repeat what I had said;

   "Niet, the gift is not what troubles me, but what is expected in
exchange as payment..."

   And with that, I took my Inna and walked away.  My wife, in her
boundless kindness, showed no end of appreciation for the broach.  That
woman, that Marie simply looked on after us.  Her silky brown hand waving
at us in our departure, and - in retrospect - I should have noted the
sinister tone in her final words,



   "Be seeyin ya'll..."



   Inna expressed much anger in my abrupt dismissal and distrust of the
Negress' kindness.  She insisted the woman was simply being polite, and
belted of how I was acting like a rude and stubborn old mule.  I wanted to
inform her of my reasons for being so terse and distrusting of the woman.
Wanted to tell her of the newly revealed dangers that lurked about us.  But
alas comrade Kostya, in my grave error, I kept the truth about the escaped
Negro and my worry being rooted in his escape to myself.  I expressed my
gruff manner as being of a husband who yearned for home and one who did not
wish to accept trinkets wantonly from those who we did not know.

   Inna found my reasoning faulty, and called me an array of names that I
will not repeat on paper, out of decency, when I told her she was stay
inside the inn for the remainder of our stay in New Orleans.  Despite my
brother's protests and my in knowledge of my Inna's having grown fond of
this city, I stood firm in my decision.  My Inna stood as too tempting a
prize for the barbarians walking this corrupt patch of earth.  From there
on, I simply yearned for sea.  Yearned for the sickening ocean that would
take I and my wife away from these dangerous lands, an almost palpable fear
taking my heart at the thought of my wife being swallowed after being
charmed by its wolfish inhabitants.



   For the remainder of the day, Inna refused to speak to me.  Near the
evening I was stirred from an uneasy rest by a knocking at my door.  Before
me upon swinging the door open - the false hope of it being my beloved in a
change of heart - was my brother, his belongings in hand, and with him word
that Inna wished to sleep alone that night.  I was disheartened by this. 
Disheartened and more than a bit worried.  Though she resided mere steps
away in the room next door to ours, the fear of some dark titanic breed of
man, creeping into her room under the blackness of night, an erect fourteen
inch phallus at the ready, filled me with a weighty unease.  My brother's
attempts to calm me went unheard, and for the better part of the night I
paced in a line.  It was only when my brother beckoned me to sleep with,



   "Damnit all Sergei, you're pacing a trench into the floor!  Stop your
aimless worrying and go to bed!  Hughes says we depart the day after
tomorrow."

   Even with the knowledge that we would be leaving this place, I felt ill.
It was only after more prodding from my brother, and the threat that he
would strike me til unconsciousness that I finally laid myself down to
sleep.  And with that, I made perhaps the gravest error.

   I awoke some time later, a cold sweat upon my brow at what was a
terrible dream.  Dream?  Niet, a nightmare.  Visions of a black shadow
sculpted in the powerful shape of a man.  A man of nothing but shade and
sculpted muscle, and armed with that damned phallus the length and width of
a chubby child's arm.  I abruptly stood, and staggered next door to the
room where my Inna slept.  I called out to her, gently, and upon receiving
no answer I knocked gently.  My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach when
- upon the third knock - the door gently gave and turned inward.  It had
been left open, and upon my entering the room my breath caught in my throat
when my eyes settled on the bed.

   ...



   To my horror, I saw but an empty bed, the sheets pulled back only to
show only bare mattress.  My Inna was gone!  Nowhere to be found in the
dark expanse of the room.  I abruptly ran and awoke my brother.  Wiping the
sleep from his eyes as though he were still a boy, he asked me what was
going on.  In my haste of getting dressed I said nothing, simply telling
him to hurry and get dressed, that Inna was gone.  I was out of our room
and racing down the inn steps before my brother even managed to get his
pants upon him.  The inn keeper was sitting at his desk, lulling in and out
of a hazy sleep.  He was startled to almost the point of heart attack when
I ran to him in a chaotic burst of what he must have heard only as `foreign
noise'.  In my panic I wasn't able to assemble the proper English words to
ask if he had seen my wife leave the inn.  My brother, looking even more
hastily dressed than I in just his plain white shirt and black pants, was
able to question the old man in his native language.





   The inn keeper said he had not seen her, though it was highly probable
she may have slipped out while he tilted in and out of sleep.  Captain
Hughes was believed to have been out we were informed.  Undoubtedly whoring
and drinking as he so often loved to do, and I was not at all willing to
waste the time trying to track him down and attempt appealing to his better
nature in the hopes of giving us aid in the search.  Immediately I took to
the streets, and called out for my wife upon passing each corner of every
block.  My brother raced behind me, asking passersby walking along in the
late of night if they'd seen my wife wandering the streets.  In their
confusion, many of them had not seen her.  Upon my asking if they had been
sure, many of them gave me a simple look of caution.  A look that implied
they were being questioned by a mad man.



   I ran and ran down the dimly lit streets of New Orleans.  I ran until
sweat shown strong above my brow, and my lungs felt as though they had been
singed in a hardy funeral pyre.  Eventually my brother grabbed me by the
arm and begged me to calm down.





   "She could not have gotten far!" He assured me that a woman of Inna's
looks was bound to be noticed by people.  That someone here was guaranteed
to have seen her pass by.  And in my few collected gasps for breath, I
grievously replied to my brother,





   "Da, a woman of her looks will have been noticed.  That is precisely
what I fear."



   And despite my brothers' insistence that such thoughts of kidnap were
the product of simple madness, I pressed on in a frenzy down the
cobblestone streets.  We ran and questioned, questioned and ran for the
better part of an hour.  I saw the seedy underside of New Orleans at night.
Many faces, black, white and a mix of everything in between.  Drinking,
smoking, making merry of what I knew in my heart to be of a sinister sort.
No one knew where my Inna had gone.  Though in my breast I knew more than a
few faces we questioned were hiding something.  The subtle snickers on some
of their faces hinting of something untold.  And in the end, it was an old
Negro man, a drunkard vagrant, who pointed me in the right direction.





   I found him at the precipice of despair, when I stood at my mind's most
bleak and hopeless of plateaus.  He sat there, drunk of the swill alcohol
he'd been drinking for what smelled like the better part of a fortnight. 
Upon my brother asking him if he'd seen any attractive foreign women that
night, his dim brown eyes lit up.





   "Woman...yeh...yeh I seen tha one ya talkin bout", even with my poor
English, I could tell his words were slow and slurred.  "Sent her reeeeal
good.  Pretty ol' thang, yes suh, finest white thang I don seen in a
looooong while." He took a long swig of his bottle, and the alcohol wetly
dribbled from his mouth and soaked into the unkempt black mass making up
his beard.  My brother asked him which way she went, and when he took too
long to reply, I shouted at him to answer.





   "She done..." another swig.  "She done gone to tha...tha square.  Yeh,
dats where she waz headin.  Hoo~wee did she look good!" My brother
proceeded to ask him the precise name of the location.  And when the old
drunkard replied, my flesh quivered.





   "She don...gon to...da square wit...dat pretty nigga girl...dey go to
tha square...Congo Square..."



   ...



   "< My goodness, I've never tasted anything so good!>" cooed Anya in her
native Russian as she tilted the glass snifter up and allowed its black
liquid contents to flow smoothly down her throat.



   "Ha-ha, I'm guessin that means you like it." Replied Mrs.  Cox.  "I
haven't the foggiest idea where Mr.  Brooks came across this, but it tastes
simply divine!  I'll have to charm the source out of him."



   "Da, if he ever shows." Anya replied.



   The party had found itself in a state of swaying ease.  Over the next
couple hours the guests have curved from a forced congeniality and turned
more into a state of genuine conversation.  Anya, Candy Cox, Ronda Van
Buskirks and Bobbie Sue Kindle were seated in a circle at the center of the
manor foyer.  Tom meanwhile wandered the foyer floor, making necessary
conversation with those he considered to be the right people.  The group of
women had decided to indulge in some of the wandering delicacies that were
being served by the hostesses, and had found themselves particularly taken
with one particular beverage.  The exotic looking, inky black wine that the
hostesses had started distributing the guests about an hour into the party.
At first the guests had attempted avoided it, finding its peculiar jet
black color to be a bit too off- putting.



   "Ugh" the mayor said in a sour expression of distaste.  "This looks like
poison.  Is Brooks tryin to poison his guests or what?" At this the mayor
erupted into a burst of laughter, his cronies of the banker and town police
joining him a moment later in a significantly more false sounding tambour.
Everyone else looked like they planned to dodge the drink as well based on
the mayor's decision.  That is until - in a show befitting only a Cox woman
- Mrs.  Candy grabbed a snifter from Mariah's silver platter.  "Oh Henry,
if you're just not the yellowest thing walking on two feet!" She took a
large pull from the snifter, and the crowd fell silent to observe her
reaction.



   "Well...that is simply..." she'd taken two more sips before finishing
her sentence.  "that.is...WONDERFUL!" And from there, the Mayor was forced
to relent.  He tried some of the wine, and in turn so did his two cronies.
Before anyone knew it, the nameless wine became an instant classic at the
party.  Its exotic but satisfying taste had proceeded to take the room by
storm.  The women loved its rich flavor and the lingering refreshment of it
fruity aftertaste, and the men enjoyed the strong kick it gave their
senses, like any potent alcohol would have.  They soon found themselves
impelled to know where it came from.



   "H-hey darlin" said Tom to a passing waitress, who had had about three
drinks by that point of the party, and found his accent slipping into more
a drawl than perhaps he'd intended to.  The perky blonde, Delilah he read,
abruptly paused, turned on her heels and quickly trotted back to Tom, her
huge breasts bouncing slightly with the motion.



   "What can I do for you sir?" she said, her cute bright smile beaming up
at him.



   "W-would you be so kind as to tell me..." he paused, taking a moment to
get his bearings back.  "What in the world is this glorious wine called?"
Delilah looked at the now empty snifter held in Tom's hand.  Upon realizing
he had finished his fourth drink, he pointed to the bottle that was sitting
atop the silver serving platter she was holding.



   "Oh that?  Ummmm..." Delilah made a face, her eyes looking up as though
in search for an answer from the ceiling.  "You know...I don't even know."
She giggled.  It wouldn't have been the first time that evening Delilah
stood stumped upon asking about details on a particular dish or drink.  And
with most of the guests simply being charmed by her cute and bubbly nature,
no one had managed to get around to pressing her on the matter.



   "Well, what's the name on the bottle?" Again, another stumped look on
the busty blonde.



   "Ummm..." Delilah replied.  It hadn't occurred to her at all to check
the label.  Tom sighed.  And this is why I married a brunette, he thought.
He half snatched the bottle from the tray and appraised it.  Strangely,
there was no written label.  Just a white, downplayed sticker with a rather
peculiar logo; a rather crudely drawn sketch of a black snake, coiled round
- what Tom could make out- a lush fruit, an apple or fig of some type. 
There was no brand name list, just a subtle spelling of the letters D.W in
an elegant yet unassuming cursive.  And beneath the initials, a number;
1859.  A vintage year, thought Tom.  There was no list of ingredients on
the back of the label and no way to tell of the wine's origin.  A very
peculiar thing for such a high end party and for such an amazing stock of
wine.



   "Miss Laveau would likely know for sure.  She is the one who ordered
everything that's being served tonight.  You might want to ask her." Tom
nodded, only a little disappointed, and with that Delilah spun again on her
heel and continued on her way, giving Tom a great view of her pert round
bottom as she left.



   "Oh, you wouldn't believe the kind of trouble my Jenny got into back in
the day", said Mrs.  Cox.  She was at mid-speed in conversation, with close
to five drinks in her, and she found herself feeling only a bit tipsy.  "I
couldn't make that girl sit down for longer than a minute at a time when
she was younger.  She was always runnin off to one place or another.  And
always, ALWAYS trailin behind her was Ivana, two years younger than her,
but just as busy, and twice as mouthy."

   Anya giggled.  "Is hilarious to think Jenny and Ivy havink known each
other so long."



   "Oh yes, yes!" Mrs.  Cox replied, "known each other since girlhood,
inseparable those two." Each woman had a glass of the black wine in their
hands.  They'd had a bottle sitting on the glass table before them in small
silver ice bucket.  "But that's how it is in Coxville.  Every generation
grows up knowing each other from the beginnin.  Me and you weren't much
different, were we Ronnie?" Ronda Van Buskirks sat across from Anya and
Candy, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sipped on her own black
snifter.



   "Indeed, Coxville is a rather tightly woven community.  Though..." she
paused to take another sip of her drink.  "I do recall myself carrying a
bit more...dare I say...poise than our lovely Candace in our youth." At
this, Mrs.  Cox lifted an eyebrow.  "Is that so?  Well I suppose it's not
all that hard to look poised and graceful when you're the community shut
in, nose in the books every hour of the day."

   This jostled a raised eyebrow from Ronda in return.  "Yes, nose in my
books, studying to become a lawyer.  Unfortunately our lovely Candace
preferred having her nose in the lap of every athlete she could find." Anya
blanched at the remark.  They're not even trying to hold back, she thought.



   "Well, that's funny Ronnie.  All that studyin to become a lawyer, yet
you settled on being just another housewife?"



   "I chose to run a household Candace.  There's a difference.  Tending to
the home of the most powerful man in the County isn't all smiles and pretty
waving." Mrs.  Van Buskirks shifted her gaze to across the room, and onto
the jiggling body of the mayor, who was laughing at some joke that had been
uttered by one of his swarming `yes-men'.  "Contrary to how you've gotten
by in the world for the last few decades, some of us women actually had to
put a little bit of work into our men and our homes."



   "Not to sound rude Ronnie dear, but I do believe your marrying Henry
came from moving those around more so than your...ahem...skills from
reading books."

   Candy's gaze fell to the lower half of Ronda's body.  Whether it was
settled on her large breasts or her long toned legs, Anya couldn't rightly
tell.  She did know however that the tone of conversation had become more
heated than she found comfortable.  She wanted to flee from the situation,
get as far away from the building tension that sat between both wizened
blondes like an airy fireball.



   "Well" replied Ronda, her face narrowing into a scowl.  "If that were
the case - which it isn't -, I supposed I'd only have you to thank for
that. Bagging men with nothin but her looks always was a forte of
Candace's. Not so much a skill at her disposal these days, but in her
youth...tsk...no shame with this one." Ronda directed this to Anya with a
subtle cupping of her mouth, as though she were muttering a secret to raven
haired beauty.

   Anya smiled politely, but decided to side with neutrality in reacting to
either woman's comment at one another.  Silently, Anya felt these two women
reminded her entirely too much of Jenny and Ivana.  Their bickering matched
almost word for word with something the busty blonde and the feisty
brunette would say to each other.  Granted Anya found herself arguing with
Ivana Swallows on more occasions than one, but this exchange between Candy
Cox - the once dubbed Queen of Coxville - and Miss Ronda Van Buskirks -
First lady of Coxville - was a dead ringer for her two friends.  Candace
especially reminded Anya of Jenny, in both looks and mannerisms.  And if
their characters weren't proof enough, Candy's amazing round breasts stood
as sound proof that Jenny was her mother's daughter.  Near seventy and her
chest stood as high and healthy as any Coxville woman present.  And for a
brief moment Anya wondered if Candy had indulged in black men in the same
way her daughter did.  And if so, had she known about her daughter's
exploits before Anya and her fellow housewives had?



   When she pressed this idea down, she wondered if - in keeping with
apparent Coxville tradition - Jenny and Ivana would end up like the two
women before her when they reached that age.  That image actually made Anya
giggle.



   "Oh, I really wish you two would stop that," came Bobbie Sue Kindle from
the love seat sitting between them.  "This is supposed to be a formal
gathering.  No disrespect to either of you, but this bickering will make us
look bad." Mrs.  Kindle spoke in much the same way one would expect from a
librarian; hushed and hinting of a meek character, with a faint sternness
only hiding behind a tone of politeness.



   "Look bad?" said Candy.  "Look bad in front of who child?  Our host is,
most noticeably, absent." Candy Cox outstretched her arms in a grand
gesture around the room.  "Seems to me like our man of the hour is about
two hours late for his own show."

   At this Ronda surprisingly nodded.  "On this I can actually agree with
Candace.  This Mr.  Brooks is truly pushing the idea of `fashionably late'.
Why, I don't even see his secretary anymore.  What's her name?  You know,
the pretty Negro girl?" At this Anya looked around the room.  Indeed, Miss
Laveau had disappeared as well.  Where could she have gone, thought Anya.



   "Not to sound rude, but this is beginning to resemble a flop." Said
Ronda, finishing off another glass of wine.



   "Oh, I don't think so", replied Bobbie Sue.  "We all know how busy Mr.
Brooks is.  I'm sure he'll be here soon."



   "Well..." said Ronda, not at all moved by Bobbie Sue's optimism.  "From
the rumors I've heard about him, I suppose I can't entirely too surprised
he's running late.  It's that...what do they call it, `Nigger Time"? 
Bobbie Sue held a stark gasp in her throat, and Candy Cox chuckled at the
remark.

   "Miss Van Buskirks!" said Bobbie Sue, her mouth in an o of shock.  "You
can't say things like that!  You'll offend someone!"



   "I think somebody's had one too many glasses of wine" said Candy Cox.



   "Who am I going to offend, the little dark boy with the telescope
glasses?  The little high yellow hostess whose half a shade away from being
white herself?  Ha!  Don't act like you haven't heard the rumors.  I heard
this Brooks fellow has a bit of that old... African darkness in him."



   "Really?" said Anya, curious as to the details.  This was something she
hadn't heard about the elusive Mr.  Brooks.



   "Oh yes.  I read it in Forbes.  It's...impressive.  A man as young as
him being so successful in business being a..." she trailed off, noting
Bobbie Sue's frowning face and Anya's wide eyed look of neutrality.  "Let's
just say the reason I showed up tonight was to see if the rumors were true.
Coxville's richest new bachelor, a mulatto.  Now THAT would be something to
see.  Henry and his little troupe of flying monkeys over there would blow a
gasket."



   "Well...it's interesting you bring that up." Said Bobbie Sue.  "The
reason I got invited was a thanks from Mr.  Brooks for doing some research
on his family roots here."

   At this all the girls' ears perked up, their eyes settling on Bobbie
Sue.



   "What mean?" came Anya.



   "Well" Bobbie Sue began hesitantly, taking a dainty sip from her own
glass snifter.  "And you didn't hear this from me."

   All three women immediately steeled themselves with stern glances.



   "Woman's honor dear" said Ronda.



   "Da, promise keep secret."



   "On my sweet Marvin's soul, God rest him" said Candy, raising her hand
in a sign of oath.



   "Well...a few weeks before they started building this manor, Miss Laveau
had called me at the county library.  She was calling on behalf of Mr. 
Brooks and requested I dig up some information on Coxville's history."
Bobbie Sue took another sip of her drink, this one longer.  "As it turns
out, the information he was looking for coincided with a part bit of
research I had already been doing on Coxville myself."



   "Interesting...Sounds juicy.  What kind of information dear?" said
Candy.



   "Oh...well..." Bobbie Sue wanted to clam up about this.  She was
hesitant to talk to people about the research she had been doing on the
strange lightning strikes and odd weather that had been occurring
periodically in Coxville County.  The truths she had uncovered about the
County were - to say the very least - eye opening.  The roots of Coxville
County went DEEP, she thought.  And at the word deep, her gaze found itself
falling on the wafer thin frame of Melvin.



   "I don't know if I should say.  I mean...it is rather...personal."



   "Oh hogwash!" said Ronda.  "You can't give away something like that and
get all timid.  Spill it girl."



   "Well..." said Candy, backing Ronda's comment.  "What did you find on
Mr. Brooks?"



   "Well..." Bobbie Sue replied.  "I'm not entirely sure.  Miss Laveau
hadn't given me anything specific to look for.  She just wanted whatever
she could find of note about Coxville... but...one thing is particular...
She paused again."



   "What?  Come girl, spit it out.  Cut the suspense already!" Said Ronda,
her patience pressed to near its limit.



   "Yes, spit out!" Anya echoed in her thick accent.



   "Particularly...she wanted any information involving the...African
slaves who were owned and lived here during the 1800s."

   At that the girl's eyes popped with shock.  Candy's face turned two
shades redder, and Ronda rose a hand to her mouth in surprise.



   "I knew it!" Ronda then bellowed.  "I told you.  This Brooks character
has that darkness in him."



   "I submitted all I had about the history of the County," continued
Bobbie Sue.



   "And not long after that I received an email from them, thanking me for
all my help."



   "Are you certain about that?"



   "Why, yes Mrs.  Cox.  That's exactly how it happened."



   "You think he's got any of those black features?  "Granted he's most
likely one of those...what do you call em" Ronda said, pondering the proper
word, "Ah, Octorone.  You think he's one of those?"



   "I have no idea" said Bobbie Sue.  "I never met him in person.  When
Miss Laveau came with I and my husband's invitation, all she said was that
the information I'd given them helped a lot with Mr.  Brooks...now how did
she phrase it?  Oh, find his true name..."

   Anya gnawed at that last sentence, her senses shooting a shock of
excitement of her spine that she couldn't quite understand.



   "You think he's got what they say many of those Negroes have?" whispered
Candy to Anya.  "Now that would be something, wouldn't' it?  A white man
equip with what those black boys have?

   Anya gave her a questioning glance.



   "I-I mean...that is...what they're rumored to have." Candy nudged Anya's
shoulder playfully.  Candy was good at playing off the effects of the wine.



   Anya simply giggled at Mrs.  Cox's crude joke; the older woman obviously
had had a drink or two more than she should have.  Anya pondered the
thought of what Mr.  Brooks looked.  Was he black, white, or some hybrid
from in between?  And therein came the cruder question of, was he equip in
the way black men were?  Anya had only seen one black penis up close, and
man alive had it been a challenge for her.  She'd kept the memory of the
last book club meeting with her and the girls at the back of her mind.



   What they'd done was wild and way more than naughty for a group of
suburban housewives.  And still, for Anya White, remembering her intense -
if all too brief - encounter with what her good friend Jenny Summers -
daughter of Mrs.  Candy Cox - called `Nigger Cock", still gave her the
chills.  She recalled how huge the member of that West was in her mouth,
and how he's left her a choking mess with nearly any effort.  If this Mr.
Brooks was anything like Samson, well...she took another sip of her wine.
This stuff tastes amazing, she thought.



   Bobbie Sue, Ronda Van Buskirks and Mrs.  Candy Cox were in a huddle of
hushed gossip when they all heard the voice call out from the second floor.



   "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" came a familiar seductive tambour from above the
crowd, silencing the room instantly.

   All eyes went up to the source of the call.  Standing above the
gathering, positioned just in the middle of the diverging staircase was
none other than Miss Adela Laveau.



   "I'd first like to thank you all for coming out to see us this evening.
We are truly honored and grateful to those of you who were able to make it
out here." The lights of the foyer dimmed, while a single light coming from
behind Adela illuminated her gorgeous body inside her white dress.  Men in
the crowd instantly grew silent erections observing the ebony queen's meaty
curves.



   "But I'm certain you're all tired of pleasantries and thank you's.  We
all know why - I'm sorry - who we are all here for." Voices grumbled in the
background with approval.



   "That of course is who we're here to see.  The man who has gathered us
all here tonight.  And after all the whispered talk, all the spreading of
rumor and muffled chatter, I am proud to present you all the man who you've
all so graciously allowed to move into your gorgeous community, and allowed
to come into the lives of your gorgeous families.  The people of Coxville,
the great and the good assembled here, have opened themselves to this man
without question or suspicion.  Opened themselves up to this mysterious man
of no knowable name and origin without the slightest degree of hostility or
hesitance.



   And he promises, vows on the roots linking us all together as family,
that in return to your kindness he will give you every inch of what you all
deserve as payment.  You've opened yourselves to him, and in return, he
will give every inch to your community...and your beautiful families."



   A deafening silence fell upon the crowd.  Not a sound was made.  And
throughout the assembled mass - equally quiet as those in attendance - a
silence hum of pleasure passed through the limbs of every man and woman at
particular apexes of Miss Laveau's speech.  It came as fast as gust of
wind, and disappeared just as quickly.  And if the women in the crowd
suddenly found themselves just the slightest bit wet between their legs,
they never spoke aloud of it.



   "Ladies and gentleman...without further ado or delay...I present to you
ALL...Mr.  Alexander Shemar Brooks..."

   ...



   If one were to ask Anya White how exactly she found herself in the
private lounge room of Mr.  Brooks, she would undoubtedly respond with a
stern and genuine "I don't know".  If one asked her how she came to be
standing before Coxville's richest man, faces close enough to where their
lips could have touched by the simplest of head movements, she would have
responded with an equally stern "I don't know".  And if one asked her what
impelled her exactly to grind her pelvis and toned thighs into and against
the man's leg, the wet juices of her pussy almost seeping through the
fabric with low moans rising from her throat, again she would have
responded with an "I don't know", but added perhaps with a coy Russian
retort of "< but I'm glad I did...>".

   ...

   It went something like this.  When Mr.  Brooks emerged from behind Miss
Laveau, the crowd standing below them in the manor foyer held a collective
gasp in their throats.  Was he tall?  Yes.  Even from the high risen angle
of the staircase it was obvious that the man stood at six feet plus, half a
head taller than Adela, and thus disproving the rumor that Brooks'
taciturnity stood because of his being a three foot dwarf.  Was Brooks
young?  Yes...at least compared to many of the other guests present.



   It was already known that Brooks was in his late twenties (or was it
early thirties?).  None of the rumors - in magazine or hearsay - ever
seemed to know for sure.  The man that stood before the crowd looked to be
about thirty.  His youthfully chiseled jaw, masculine chin and primed
facial features showed him to be a man in the midst of his prime.  Was he
fat?  No.  As he stepped forward everyone saw that his frame was of an
impressive sort.  Even hidden inside his immaculately tailored white suit,
everyone saw that this man was no butterball.  His broad shoulders, solid
chest and slim waist showed him to be a man in awesome physical shape, dare
one say his prime.



   He was built more like a middle-weight boxer than a brutish body
builder. Lean and long limbed rather than bulky.  And, perhaps the most
nagging mystery of all to be revealed, was Brooks black?  Yes...and
yet...the crowd couldn't be entirely sure.  Yes, Alexander `Shemar' Brooks
definitely had the build and primary facial features of a black man.  Solid
brow ridge, full lips, brown eyes and so forth.  However his nose seemed
perhaps a little straighter than a person of pure Negro descent would have.
His skin complexion, a very light caramel, reminded people more of Barack
Obama more than Sidney Poitier.  This fact was considered a boon for the
majority of guests at the party.



   No one said a word.  Not a sound came from the gathered group as they
drunk in the image of their host, Alexander Brooks, revealed to them at
long last.  And in the end, it was Mr.  Brooks who broke the silence.



   "Adela dear..." he said, not taking his eyes off the crowd.  His voice
was a deep smooth bass that seemed to somehow carry across the room and
into every ear.



   "Now I may be mistaken...but I was under the impression we were having a
party, not a wake." A boyish smile formed across his face.



   Was that a joke?  Had the richest man in Coxville just joked?  Everyone
blinked, and before anyone had a chance to say anything, Mayor Van Buskirks
spoke up,



   "You're Mr.  Brooks?" Asked the mayor, an artless and all but skeptical
tone carried in his southern accent.  Anya would have sworn the word `boy'
was going to come out of the portly man next.



   "That I am Mr.  Mayor" Brooks replied, his slightly dulled and crooning
New Orleans accent making him sound like a radio announcer.  "And if you'd
all be so kind as to line up in an orderly manner against the far wall to
your left, my men will go about confiscating your wallets, rings and other
personals promptly." A gasp from the round man, along with several more
that followed from the crowd.  Heads turned this way and that.  Some
looking around to see where Brooks' giant Negro guards were coming from,
and others most likely looking for the nearest exit.  In another moment
however, Brooks' face turned into a boyish smile, his lips peeling back to
reveal a simply stunning set of white teeth.



   When he laughed, the room stood silent.  It wasn't a deep evil super
villain laugh, but the laugh of a jovial frat boy who had just pulled a
prank of an unsuspecting victim.  The once rising tension of the room was
properly put down when Miss Laveau gently nudged him in the side.



   "Ouch!" Brooks said, playfully acknowledging and exaggerating the blow.



   "Ha-ha, joking, I'm joking everyone.  Just a little awkward humor to
break the ice."

   A sigh of relief washed over the crowd, and the Mayor - along with his
cronies - began laughing.  Nervously at first, with odd cracks and pausing
between chuckles.  Soon the entire room fell into a steady rise of
laughter. And several seconds later, Mrs.  Candy Cox began to clap.  Her
singular clapping became doubled with Ronda Van Buskirks joining in, not
wanting to be shown up by her rival.  Thereafter followed the Mayor, the
Mayor's daughter, the Kindle couple, Melvin, and in turn followed by the
rest of the room.  Brooks gave a slight humble bow.



   "Thank you, thank you.  Thank you all for coming this evening." He said,
making his way down the staircase, Adela Laveau following just behind him.
The dim lights rose back to their original hue, and the music picking up
again on the overhead speakers, the elegant slightness of orchestral music
replaced with a more upbeat jazz, complete with muffled horns.  Brooks
approached the crowd and commenced the shaking of hands and patting of
backs.  He engaged in all the necessary conversation, all the while not
once breaking his regal stride nor allowing his charismatic nature to
falter in the face of potential opposition.



   Many of the attendants made it a point to keep a safe distance from the
mulatto man as he spoke to others.  Making distrust appear as polite as
possible.  Nigger or not, Brooks was still a very wealthy man, and his
verdict on Coxville could make or break the county in its present and
future endeavors.  Fortunately he was one of the 'light-skinned' ones and
didn't leave them too uncomfortable.  They listened in on the conversations
from a safe distance, and paid close attention to his responses.  Most
vehement in his appraisal of Brooks was Mayor Van Buskirks and his lackies.



   They gave him the third, fourth and fifth degree on his lineage,
upbringing, and education.  They asked him a slew of questions on his
racial background, and were only left slightly disquieted by the vague
breakdown of Brooks' family.  They learned that his mother was white, and
his father was..."complicated" as Brooks worded it.



   They asked him an onslaught of prying questions about his views on
Coxville and probed the issue - as far as they could - on Brook's
affiliation with the `real blacks' in town, and - most importantly - what
brought him to the county in the first place.  Brooks replied with his own
series of answers.  They were conservative, eloquently spoken, and rather
vague when one took the time to really think about it.  Though no one
did...



   "I'm here because, gentlemen, Coxville is one of the last places in our
country that maintains true American values.  It was providence I find out
my family roots come from here."

   His answers captivated them.  And when questioned on the state of his
companies - many musics and video productions that much of the right wing
Republicans found adversarial to their views -, he simply replied.



   "I'm in the business of making money gentlemen.  If `safe' sold to the
masses I'd distribute it in bulk.  People want to be shocked and slightly
appalled at what they buy.  It's our own nature to stare in awe at that
which offends.  Someone has to keep this economy going now that we've
opened the White House up to all kinds of bafoonery.  And - in response to
your earlier question Mr.  Mayor - the `real blacks' tend to excel at that
which appalls and offends.  Luckily I didn't inherit that side of my family
tree.

   The mayor, the sheriff and rest of the half circle standing around him
were left slack jawed.  They didn't quite know how to respond to Brooks'
answer.  The mayor's eyes furrowed, but then turned into a clownish uproar
of laughter.



   "Ha-ha, know what...I like this boy!  Sharp this one!" The sheriff
joined the uproar, and in turn so did the others.  They marked Brooks'
reply with a load toast and subsequent gulp of black wine.



   "Ah, that's the kind of fresh thinking we need around here" said the
mayor.  "New blood, genuine southern blood.  Hard workin and not afraid to
think outside the box."



   "Indeed.  I only hope to appease Coxville's tastes and wants sir."



   "Speaking ah taste" the mayor interjected.  "Where on EARTH did you get
this wine?"

   He took another long sip of the dark liquid.  "I've had many a wines,
but nothing even comes close to this."



   Brooks smiled, "It's of my own making Mr.  Mayor.  Recently I've gotten
into the bottling business."



   "You don't say" said Mayor Van Buskirks.



   "Yes.  Forgive the expression, but I used tonight's audience as a kind
of guinea pig group to test it.  Gauge the waters of response you could
say."



   "Really..." said the mayor, looking at the snifter which contained the
delicious inky liquor.



   "What's in it?" Asked the sheriff, himself taking a deep swig.  To that
Brooks laughed hardily.  "You'll forgive me for keeping silent on that Mr.
Sheriff.  Old family recipe you see.  Secret doesn't even begin to cover
it." The sheriff gave him a probing look.



   "Oh I assure it's all perfectly safe.  Nothing but the best ingredients,
and I've gone about getting it approved by all the proper parties.  We go
into mass production of it next month."



   "What's it called?" asked the mayor.



   "The name of that particular brand is Diabolique Wine my good sir!"
replied Brooks with a proud belt of voice.  "Concocted right here Coxville
County circa 1859."



   "Diab..." muttered the mayor, mispronouncing it as `dee-ab'.



   "Di-ab-bo-leak" Brooks said, breaking down the syllables for him.



   "What's that...some old creole word for `damn delicious'?  And again Mr.
Brooks smiled.  This one deeper and showing more of his pearly white teeth.
"Not quite Mr.  Mayor..." and left it at that.

   ...



   Across the foyer, a hail of eyes was observing the newly revealed mogul.
With Brooks so close to throng of guests, people were able to take in more
of his physical features.  Indeed, mixed or not, Brooks was a very handsome
fellow.  Several women noted this and spoke of it as such quietly amongst
themselves, hushed so that their husbands would not hear.



   "Check out those shoulders..." said one of the mayor's assistant's twin
daughters to the other.  "He looks like that one basketball player.  What's
his name, Fox?"



   "Yeah, he does..." said the other twin.  Mindy and Melanie - Coxville's
own identical twin beauties - looked on to Mr.  Brooks in a kind of awe. 
Everyone around them didn't quite know how to react to the man.  Didn't
quite know how to read this black man, who - no doubts about it - was
Negro...but - strangely - didn't' act like it at all.  He was handsome,
almost intimidating in height and build (like a black man), had features
that identified him as being (at least) half black, and yet his smile and
the charming way he carried himself did not at all leave the primarily
white guests of the party unnerved.  His smooth caramel skinned made him
far lighter than that nerd Melvin, but marked him a shade darker than the
gorgeous hostess Tanya.  Upon shaking the man's hand and hearing him say,



   "Alexander Brooks, pleasure to meet you" in that chocolate bass line
voice, all apprehension just seemed to just fade away from the party goers'
faces.  There was just something about him that inspired a sense of ease
and trust.  An unspoken gravitas he held over the room with his smile and
charming personality.

   Even the mayor - never having been a particular fan of blacks in general
- stood almost looking delighted when Brooks made it a point to come to him
and thank him personally for coming out.  Indeed, everyone (almost everyone
that is...) was quickly become taken with Coxville's new neighbor.

   "And this gorgeous lady couldn't be anyone but your lovely wife.  A
pleasure to finally meet you Mrs.  Van Buskirks" Brooks said.

   "Ch-charmed Mr.  Brooks" was all Ronda was able to choke out.  She
hadn't expected for the man of the hour to be so attractive.

   "And this..." Brooks then added, his gaze turning to the Mayor's
daughter, "must be Coxville's very own princess" The mayor's daughter
instantly blushed.



   "Ha-ha, yep, that's our Cassie" the mayor replied, his gut giggling a
bit with his own delight.



   "Even Cassie can't resist him" said Mindy.  The twins secretly chuckled
to each other from their station in the room.



   "Looks like Ronnie's got herself a case of the smittens" whispered Candy
to Anya, who herself was just holding back a blush appraising the man. 
Candy stood next to Anya, another glass of black wine cradled in her hand.



   "Can't altogether blame her though" Candy continued, up ending the
snifter and taking out the entire drink in mere seconds!  "That Brooks is
quite th'looker."

   It was then that Anya noticed the slight slur in Candy's speech.



   "F'I were twenty years younger, I'd be on my knees for that quicker'nd
you could say..." she trailed off, tilting the snifter up again to her lips
instantly turning a sour face upon realizing the beverage had been drained.
"B'right back dear, time for a refill".

   She handed Anya the empty glass, and disappeared into the crowd. 
Moments later, Tom arrived at her side.



   "Hey babe" he said, almost as though he were trying to keep his presence
unknown.  "You get a load of this guy?"

   Tom directed her gaze once again to Brooks, who was already in the
process of entertaining the owner of the bank and his tall brown haired
wife with an - apparently - hilarious anecdote.



   "I'm wonderin how much Adela's payin him."

   At this Anya turned to face her husband.  "What mean?" she asked.



   "Oh come on" he said, looking around cautiously.  "You really think this
guy is THE Mr.  Brooks?  I mean, look at him.  That guys a model, not a
mogul.  I'm thinking Adela hired some actor guy to pose as Mr.  Brooks."

   At this Anya cocked an eyebrow.



   "Don't give me that look."



   "What make you so sure?"



   "What makes me so sure?" Tom's eyes widened as though he'd been slapped.
"Ain't it obvious?"

   When Anya didn't reply, Tom continued.



   "Guy moves into town, throws a huge party for all the upper crust. 
Sends some prettyboy actor to smoosch and work the crowd in his place, gain
the trust of the mayor and the owner of the bank.  Thereafter he's got the
town by the balls without having to lift a finger."

   Anya hadn't the foggiest idea what Tom was getting at.



   "Tom, I thinkink you have too much wine dear."



   "No" said Tom, a stubborn certainty in his voice.  "This is just another
part of their 'mystery' game.  No way this Brooks guy's that perfect.  I
mean...look at him, this guy's an underwear model, not a businessman.

   Anya observed Brooks and the firm angles of his body trapped inside his
suit, and for a moment allowed herself the devious treat of imagining the
tall mulatto in his underwear.



   I don't trust it.  Don't trust it one bit."

   Anya found Tom's sudden turn in behavior strange.  Minutes ago he
couldn't wait to meet Mr.  Brooks.  Now it seemed like that wonder upon
actually laying eyes on him had suddenly turned into outright distrust.



   "He seem pretty...how to say...'legit' to me." The word `legit' from
Anya sounded like `lee-geet'.



   "No" Tom repeated.  "I don't trust it.  I don't trust him."



   "You overreact."



   "No, I'm not overreactin, I'm tellin you this guy is up to somethin. 
Somethi-"

   They were interrupted by the sudden approach of Mr.  Brooks, with Mayor
Van Buskirks following on his heels.



   "Thomas White!" bellowed Brooks when he finally made his way to his
corner of the room.  "So glad to finally meet you sir!"

   He presented a large smooth caramel hand to the jittery White man.  Tom
looked at it, almost looking uncertain as to if he wanted to shake it or
not.  Tom came back into his bearings however upon realizing the mayor was
right in front of them.



   "Y-yeah...pleasure to finally meet you too Mr.  -ahem-Brooks."



   "Adela has told me many great things about you and the work you do
around here.  Advertising is rough business.  I should know, I do it a bit
of it myself."



   "Yes...yes it is" replied Tom tersely.  "Miss Laveau hasn't told us much
about you though.  Information is hard to come by on Mr.  -ahem- Brooks..."



   "Please, call me Alex" Brooks replied.  "I spend 364 days of the year as
`Mr.  Brooks', tonight I'd like to enjoy being myself, especially
considering how we're officially neighbors now."



   "Yeah..." said Tom.



   "But in response to what you were saying.  There is a reason for my
secrecy.  I like to define and present myself through my work.  I find all
the hype and unnecessary spilling of guts in magazines and gossip articles
to be a distraction at best.  I know they say any publicity is good
publicity...but I'm of a...shall we say...different nature than most people
in business."

   And with that, Mr.  Brooks' eyes fell to Anya's, who had been standing
silent next to her husband.



   "And speaking of distractions..."

   Anya's heartbeat suddenly began beating hard behind her breast.



   "This couldn't be anyone but Mrs.  White herself."

   He took his hand back from Tom's and presented it to Anya.  He leaned
forward in a slight cordial bow before the gorgeous Russian.



   "Adela's description of your beauty doesn't even come close to a
first-hand view.  Anya, if I'm not mistaken?"

   Anya, her face turning a flushed red, daintily presented her own hand
before the caramel mogul.  For a moment she had to remember whether or not
Anya was actually her name.



   "D-Da, is very nice meetink you...finally" stammered Anya.  "Thank you
much for invitink me and Tom to party."



   " < Oh, the pleasure is all mine, my dear.  Coxville indeed is fortunate
to have such a vision living among them >" Brooks replied...in perfect
Russian.



   Anya's dark eyes popped with surprise.  Mr.  Brooks spoke Russian!?  She
was silently gasping at this newly learned fact.



   "Whoa!  What was that?" said Tom, taken aback.



   "Well I'll be..." said the Mayor from behind them.  "Boy speaks the
woman's language."



   " < Your Russian...> Anya replied in kind.  < It is very good.  Niet,
perfect.  >"



   " < I've studied a few languages over the years.  It is nowhere near
perfect, but I've learned enough.  I am grateful for your approval.  >"



   "What's he sayin" said Tom, obviously getting flustered at the fact he
couldn't understand the exchange between the tall Negro and his wife.



   "Tom, is amazink, Da?  Mr.  Brooks speak Russian."



   "Yeah...what a coincidence" Tom replied, more than skeptical.



   "Well shit son, you turn everything you touch into gold too?" said the
Mayor, chuckling and up ending an entire glass of Diabolique wine down his
throat.

   ...



   Anya pressed herself hard against the tall light skinned negro, her huge
breasts pressing themselves firmly against his solid chest.  If pressed,
Anya White would not be able to explain the events that transpired over the
next two hours.  She would not be able to explain exactly how she and Mr.
Brooks found themselves alone and upon each other in some quiet room inside
Mr.  Brooks' vast manor.  She wouldn't know or describe how she and he came
to be locked inside an almost violent embrace, lips locked together in a
fervor that almost made the room they were standing in arid with shared
human heat.  I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought.



   The room itself was crčme colored nook, decorated with old art pieces
and sculptures that looked to be African in origin, brown oaken furniture
laying here and there, a large crčme colored couch conveniently sitting
before the embracing couple as though waiting to catch them both.  A small
round glass table settled next to that holding Anya's `sixth' half-
devoured glass of the black Dioabolique wine.



   A rich man's `man-cave' could have been the word to describe it.  It was
a secluded room, spacious and dimly lit by several standing lamps placed on
the four corners of the room.  All the modern features of a modern lounge
room but - with an interesting addition -- of the huge one way mirror that
stood tall on the far wall in front of the embracing couple.  A one way
mirror that observed the party as it continued - quite wildly in fact -
without them.  Anya would only think to ask him about it much later.



   Anya could not tell an inquiring party (if asked) how she came to be so
turned on.  Certainly she had found Brooks to be an attractive man, niet,
gorgeous even.  But she wasn't at all considering acting on the attraction.
She had made a mistake once before not too long ago.  At the previous book
club meeting with her friends she had gotten into quite a bit of carnal
mischief on the insistance of her best friend Jenny Summers.  That had been
a brief (near jaw breaking) mistake, and one she eventually concluded -
through some conflict of logic and desire - couldn't and wouldn't happen
again.



   But now, here she was.  Sucking on the tongue and gently biting the
lower lips of Alexander 'Shemar' Brooks.  She couldn't remember exactly how
it happened.  She'd recall having another glass of wine, its taste once
again delectable.  She recalled Brooks saying something to the effect of
"would you like to see something interesting, Mrs.  White?" and herself
excitedly replying "Da!" without a second thought.  And if given a moment
to ponder it, she might even have remembered her husband Tom calling out to
her, drunkenly slurring the words,



   "Anya!  Come-bagk'ere" and "Don'chu walg-away-frumme!"

   The hows, whys and wherefores slowly fell into and out of understanding
for the gorgeous Russian woman.  How she came to be in this room, alone
with Mr.  Brooks.  Why Mr.  Brook's huge bodyguards had entered the foyer
when she and Mr.  Brooks took their leave of the party, and where - in the
world - had Miss Laveau run off to?  Anya would have wanted the painfully
sexy black woman to her here to watch as she wildly stripped off Brooks'
clothes, pulling and tearing at the buttons of his white shirt.



   She would have wanted to show to sexy Negress what she'd much she had
been missing out on in her error of NOT fucking one of the country's
wealthiest men the first chance she got.  Anya was so turned on already,
the points between her legs so warm and on the cusp of climax, that
thoughts of caution and what her husband might think shed with every
article clothing the interracial couple took off of one another.  None of
the details mattered.  All that mattered to her was getting this tall
caramel skinned vision naked!



   When Anya got Brooks' shirt off, she gasped at what she saw.  The creole
man was built to perfection!  Solid pecs, even and numerous lines of muscle
lining the path that led all the way down to man's stunning eight pack abs.



   " < My goodness!  Look at you!  >" she bellowed, holding back a small
orgasm just from observing him.  Both her hands were at the edges of where
she had ripped off his shirt, buttons popping and flying off in various
directions of the room.



   "You like?" replied Brooks, his smile almost making her cum then and
there.

   Without another word she was upon him again, kissing his full caramel
lips and every inch of his chest and almost clawing at his shoulders to get
the remains of his shirt off.  Meanwhile he was grabbing a solid handful of
her left breast, while his other hand traveled downward and pulled at the
string line of her panties.  They were at her heels in an instant, and the
straps holding up the high part of her black dress fell a moment later when
Brooks' large hands pulled at it.

   Anya's huge round breasts came free with a beautiful bounce upon
spilling free of its clothed restraints.  Her having worn no bra that night
made the effect twice as eye-catching.  They were medium toned for a white
woman, pert in a way that almost defied reason, and marked with two tanned
buds for nipples that Brooks observed to already be hard.



   "Holy shit..." said Brooks, just as fascinated with Anya's body as she
was his.  "Coxville certainly knows how to keep their women looking right."



   "No Coxville..." Anya said, her English getting worse by the second from
her arousal.  "I doch iz Cherniderivo.  Is Russia you should thank..."
Pulling the black dress further down, he could see the rest of her was just
as impressive.  The lines of her stomach - honed from copious exercise and
aided with the gift of genetics - led to a gorgeously shaped set of hips.
Her dress was bunched up above her thighs and pulled down from her chest in
a manner that it stayed in the center of her stomach, looking like nil more
than a solid black bunched up sash of fabric around her.  As a result he
could see the greater expanse of her body, and felt a powerful surge pulse
through his body.  Brooks only got the briefest glimpse of Anya's perfect
shaved pussy however, because in an almost blinding speed she had dropped
to her knees and had commenced tugging at the buckle of his belt.



   There was a slight ring and clatter of metal as she pulled and tugged at
the article.



   "Let see what you are hidink in here for Anya, Da?"



   She looked up at Brooks, giving him a seductive mischievous glance with
her dark eyes.  Brooks said nothing, his face stern and watching her pull
at his pants.  Her hands shook slightly as she tried working the belt
loose, her fingers fumbling out of excitement.  Tom is going to be irate,
she thought.  She had heard her husband calling out to her when she walked
off with Brooks.  She knew he wouldn't simply let that go.  But all the
same, this fact did not stop her from undoing Brooks' belt.  She continued,
and succeeded a second or two later in working it loose and undoing the
button holding his slacks in place.



   She then, slowly, pulled zipper of his pants down.  A grating and almost
palpable tension fell over the dimly lit room with her anticipation.  I
can't believe I'm doing this, she thought again as she pulled downward on
both Brooks' pants and the plain black boxers worn beneath them.  When Anya
White finally got a glimpse of Brooks' naked flesh sitting behind his
boxers however, all her worries and concerns for Tom, Todd, her little
suburban home, and her role as a housewife fell away with the single
throaty gasp that escaped from her.



   "BOZCHE MOI!!"

   ...



   Not long before Anya had gotten to work unveiling her prize in the
lounge of the manor, the bodyguards of the Brooks estate were standing at
the front of the large archway.  There were five in total, four of whom had
found themselves settled in different locations on the stoop and steps at
the front of the place, sitting and standing perhaps a bit more relaxed
than bodyguards should have been, considering who their employer was.  The
conversation they were engaged in was also less than professional.



   "I'm talkin big country BOOTY, big country TITTIES, BO~YA!" bellowed
`Big' Rich, making a crude hand sculpture that was intended to mimic the
shape of one of the hostesses' bountiful lady parts from his position on
the manor's stoop.  Richard, aka `Big' Rich stood at an even six feet tall,
his shiny bald head acting in a stark contrast to his thick bushel of black
beard.



   "Yeah, dez white girls discoverin dem' red beans`n rice, dats fo sho."
Replied the second bodyguard, Darius from the opposite end of the stoop. 
Darius was the largest of the crew at 6'7", and was built like a titan
forged out of obsidian, and his suit was barely able to contain the amount
of mass behind the cloth.  His voice was almost supernaturally deep, while
`Big' Rich's made him sound far younger than he looked.



   The two other guards, the young and lean brown skinned Terrance, and the
stocky, deathly silent (at times eerily so) almost jet black colored man
whom the others jokingly called `Zulu', both sat near the bottom of the
steps.  Terrance, the youngest brotha at twenty-two and second newest
member of the bodyguard cell, chuckled at the discourse.  Zulu - by far the
eldest member of the group at an easy forty years and longest serving
bodyguard of Mr.  Brooks - stood just at the bottom of the stairs, a lit
cigarette hanging by what looked like the very edge of his big lips. 
Darius and Rich both seemed to be in their mid-thirties.



   "Ha-ha, ya'll too much!" laughed Terrance.



   "You saw what I saw rook." Said Rich, "dem bitches in der dah baddest
Brooks has brought in yet!"



   "True dat." concurred Darius.  The pair spoke with certainty, as they
had several affairs of this type under their belts.  Zulu didn't speak of
how many he was totting in service, but they figured it must have been
sizable giving his tenure with Brooks.



   "Ey, don't be callin me rook no more.  I been here three months, that
new nigga dey just hired's can be tha `rook' now."



   "Where he at anyway?" asked `Big' Rich.  "Ain't seen him in a minute."



   "He said was finna do a perimeter check" said Terrance.  "I told him dat
was cool by me, cuz I ain't tryin to check SHIT, cept those fine ass
bitches walkin round in der."



   The fifth member of the group, the one Terrance and the others simply
called `J', had been with the group for nil more than a week.  They did not
know much about the newbie aside from a couple scarce facts; That he was
Coxville native, and was brought in exclusively on request of Miss Laveau,
and also that physically the man was beyond formidable.  Tall, almost as
burly as Darius, and damn near black as night like Zulu.  They'd gotten
along the five of them, though a few intense words and moods were exchanged
between Darius and J when the veteran attempted to establish dominance to
the newbie.  Rich had jumped in to break up the tumult before it got ugly,
while Terrance decided following Zulu's lead and keeping quiet on the
matter was the smarter choice.



   "He prolly in the back scoopin dez ho's out low.  Prolly beatin his meat
right now..." added Darius.



   "Sheeit, too bad we ain't gettin inta that mu'phucka to spit game
though." Said Terrance, trying in vain to steal a glance from the window
set far behind him, and giving up when the act of turning his neck became
uncomfortable "Dey too busy servin crab and crackers to tha crackas in
der."

   Darius and 'Big' Rich both laughed in unison, some silent joke being
exchanged between the two of them.



   "Damn..." said Rich, visually taken aback by the statement.  "You iz
green, ain't ya rook?"

   Terrance looked at them, a confused and slightly vexed expression on his
face.



   "Ey!" replied Terrance, taking it as an affront.  "What's dat spose ta
mean?" Again, the two veterans laughed, enjoying the junior bodyguard's
huffed reaction.



   "Ey Zulu, you didn't explain ta tha little nigga what tha deal is?" Zulu
said nothing, simply choosing to take a huge drag of his cig in response.



   "Ah shit, Zulu ain't told you."



   "Told me what?" Darius and Rich gave each other scanning glances,
debating whether or not they should fill the rookie in.



   "You been here three months an don't know wat tha deal iz wit Brooks'
parties?"



   "Aw, come on guys.  Don't gimme dat `veteran's secret' hazing shit.  I
got enough ah dat at ma last gig."



   "Even tha other rook know what tha scoop iz, lil' T." said Rich. 
`Lil'T' was the nickname they had adopted for him.



   "Dats because dat nigga live here, Rich" said Darius.  "Tha big momma
hired him cuz he know tha streets here betta than most.  Figured she'd
level wit him and tell him what's up if he put tha word out in the ghetto
that Brooks ain't to be fucked wit."

   It only took one's recollection of Miss Adela's big round ass and huge
tits to understand where Darius' nickname of `Big Momma' came from. 
Silently they all appreciated the mental image of Miss Laveau.



   "Dis yo first outside job for Mr.  Brooks Lil' T ?"



   "Nah" replied Terrance, "third.  First one was dis bunk business meetin
in L.A., second was tha party he threw in New York.  The rest was just
round tha clock shit at his old apartment.  Nuttin special." Darius
chuckled, "yeah...dat explain it."



   "Explain what?"



   " I ain't talkin bout no weak ass business meetin, or some lame bullshit
New York party.  You ain't been to one of Mr.  Brooks' reeeeal parties
yet."



   "Dis'll be yo first one." Added Rich.



   This stumped the younger Negro.  He had no idea what a `real' party of
Mr.  Brooks was supposed to entail.  Miss Laveau had spent almost an hour
explaining a slew of details, numerous `do's don'ts and expectations when
they first hired as a bodyguard.  Not once had she mentioned anything after
he had been employed.  Granted...at the time Terrance was a bit preoccupied
with other thoughts.  Like; what his dick would look like pressed between
Laveau's big brown titties, and; how good her ass would look popping up and
down `twerk style' on his dick.  On second thought, Terrance hadn't
remembered much of anything about what Miss Laveau had told him.  For all
he recalled, she may have spent the better part of that hour going in
detail about what good parties Mr.  Brooks threw.



   "Awww, little niggas poppin his cherry." Said Darius, almost mockingly.



   "Tha fuck ya'll talkin bout man?

   Silence.



   "Zulu, come on man.  What dey talkin bout?"

   Even more silence from the jet black elder.



   "Ya'll are fuckin wit me."

   Darius and 'Big' Rich busted out in laughter again, taking in Terrance's
vexation as he gave them the middle finger.  And Zulu, still standing like
a statue with his lit cigarette, even let the smallest hint of smirk cross
his dark lips.  Their uproar was abruptly put down however when the manor
door suddenly opened.  Standing halfway out of the door was none other than
the stunning Miss Adela herself.  A single thick leg stepping out into the
night, while the upper half of her body peaked out at the men, teasing the
succulent arch of her breasts in her imacaulate white dress.

   All the warmth and glamour of her face was replaced by a cold and beyond
stern beauty, an icy elegance that hinted of no humor whatsoever.  Their
laughter died instantly upon noticing her arrival.  Terrance fumbled to
erect himself from his seated position on the stairs, while Darius and Rich
shot themselves to attention before the goddess.  Even Zulu made it a point
to turn on his heel and flick his cigarette behind him.  She appraised the
men, saying nothing while looking each man up and down.  Terrance had no
idea what was going on.  His heartbeat quickened and the slightest moisture
hinting of sweat formed on his brow.  After a long uncomfortable moment,
Adela spoke.  Her tone, still silky and tingling to the ear, came off a
nothing but `no-nonsense'.  And somehow, for some reason despite her having
just come outside, Terrance knew that Adela was aware of everything that
had transpired in their conversation.



   "Where is Jerome?" She asked.



   "Checkin the perimeter ma'am" replied Rich, his tambour flipping rather
comically from `shit-talker' to humble in the flatness of a second.

   At this she half-cocked a thin dark eyebrow, and said "I see..." And
after another strained moment of silence, she added,



   "Well gentlemen...showtime...this way", and opened the door into the
manor proper, beckoning the to come inside.

   ...



   Inside Brooks' manor, Terrance was slack jawed in awe at the sheer scale
and elegance of the place.  He had never been inside, and he was fairly
certain none of his fellow bodyguards had seen it up close in its completed
form either.  With all the commotion that had been going on in preparation
for the party, the men had next to no space to really be anywhere near
their employer.  Inside the room was a rabble of activity.  The guests
were, from what Terrance could plainly see, enjoying themselves.  The group
consisted in vast majority of happy white faces, full glasses of inky dark
wine that were guzzled down, quick as though it were water, and - as
Terrance equally noted - more than a few happy hands touching and groping
at guests as well as some of the hostesses.



   At first Terrance thought Miss Laveau had brought them in to break up or
keep an eye on the guests and their acts towards the sexy group of servers.
Make sure these drunk crackers don't get too frisky and free-feeling with
the help.  This however, did not seem to be the case.  As the four
bodyguards strode in,, finely suited - as black men in a crowd of whites -
and standing out like the proverbial sore thumb, Terrance noticed that the
hostesses themselves were actually enjoying the attention they were
receiving from patrons.



   They smirked at a gentle (feigned accidental) groping of the chest, and
smiled at a slight patting of their asses.  This was happening in rising
regularity as the bodyguards took their positions as dictated from Miss
Laveau.  As Terrance observed the crowd, he caught a full on visual of the
party.  Many of what looked like the town's high end members were all
making merry around each other.  Drinking and chatting it up like crackers
without a care in the world often did.  Terrance made it a point to try and
seek out where Mr.  Brooks was, keeping in mind the first rule he learned
on the job of `never lose sight of your client.  He scanned the place, high
and low, but it was only when he looked at the busiest section of the foyer
that he found him.



   Mr.  Brooks was chatting it up with one of the finest white bitches
Terrance had ever seen!  And - observing the guests beforehand - that was
saying something.  Jet black hair, full dick worthy lips, big ol' white
titties, muscular thighs that looked capable of crushing watermelon, and a
ass that near exploded from the back of her tight fitting black skirt. 
'Big' Rich and Darius had noticed her too upon setting sights on Brooks,
and by their faces they were thinking the same thing as Terrance.



   "Boss man don't waste no time, huh?" Murmured Darius to Rich.



   "Always taken da finest one fo hisself" replied Rich.

   Terrance hadn't heard the exchange, but from the body language observed
between the raven haired woman and their tall and ridiculously handsome
employer, he knew what was going down.  Silently they watched the crowd,
which seemed to be growing 'friendlier' by the second.  Some of the guests
even put forth an effort to speak to the guards in their varying positions
of the room.



   "Who let you boys in here?" belted one old man.  He was an older balding
Caucasian fellow of no particular clout or portent besides being the
assistant of the mayor's assistant (or something).  Most likely aware of
this fact, the man seemed to be on the better half of drunk.  "You're
sposed to be *hick* OUT-SIDE!" said one man to Terrance.



   "Oh, Mister Dupree," called Adela from not far away.  "They're in here
on Mr.  Brooks' request" she said.

   In response Mr.  Dupree merely sniffed, took a strong sip of wine, and
walked away before Terrance could say a word.  Dried up old asshole, was
probably the nicest thing Terrance thought about the old racist geezer.



   "Wow...you're tall" said Mindy, looking up at the towering Darius. 
"Ain't he tall Mel?" she said - half slurring to her twin sister and taking
a gulp of wine.



   "Yep...he sure is" the twin replied, just as slurry as her sister and
taking another sip of her own snifter.



   In response Darius merely grinned at the girls.  He observed the two
white women where they stood.  Tight bodies, he thought.  Big ol titties
too.  Darius was noticing this town was infamous for that.  At first he
figured they'd honed their bodies playing some `spoiled brat' sport like
tennis.  However upon noting the medium tone of their skin he concluded
they were both more likely swimmers.  `Big' Rich meanwhile was making
flirty eye contact with the doe eyed waitress, the mysterious Merissa. 
Instead of nervously looking away like most girls did when he looked at
them, she simply gazed back with an aluring tease of a smile curving her
luscious lips.

   Damn, thought Rich, definitely the hottest group yet!  And from the
middle of the staircase, Zulu observed the entire layout of the room in his
noted stony silence, taking only an occasional glance at the two older -
but still VERY sexily built - blonde couple of Candy Cox and Ronda Van
Buskirks.



   Miss Laveau was then seen standing at the top of the staircase, in the
center of the second floor walkway where she had earlier announced Mr. 
Brooks' entrance.  She watched the room like a hawk for some minutes,
drinking in the image of the crowd.  The steady heave of her full breasts
quickened as she watched everyone, touching playing, groping just a bit
more than before, and all the while the diabolique wine flowed and was
drunken with wanton glee.  And when the heat of the room went up by enough
to where it began to cause men to loosen their ties and women to begin
fanning at their necks and only slightly glistening chests, Miss Adela
Laveau spoke

   ...

   "Ladies and gentlemen!" Everyone in the room looked up at her, their
many white faces looking up in adoration, and a budding desire for her body
that was now only barely contained through congeniality and politeness.



   "Are you all having fun this evening?" A rise of yelps and applause.



   "So glad to hear it.  It brings us nothing but joy to know you
beautiful, beautiful people are enjoying yourselves with us tonight!"
Again, a hail of yelps, hoots and applause.  The crowd was so busy giving
praise to their having a good time, that none of them caught the covert act
of Mr.  Brooks whispering something into Anya White's ear.  Adela caught
the motion, and couldn't help but smirk at the sudden effect it had on the
dark haired Russian.  Adela heard not their words, but by the abrupt though
surreptitious manner they both made their way from the room (much to Mr. 
White's disapproval) she knew what was to come next for the pair of them,
and she licked her lips at the thought of it.



   "And if you all are having fun now..." she then said, "then this next
part...well..." she trailed off, instead allowing the subtle click of the
handheld remote she had been quietly palming, convey all as the overhead
speakers came to life with music.  Music with a very peculiar vocal
track...

   ...



   Anya White was on her knees; her round bare ass nestled on the bottoms
of her feet, her eyes wide and a hand over her mouth as she gazed in awe at
the sight before her.  Her other hand was in the process of pulling down
Alexander Brooks' pants and boxers.  When she saw the meaty top of the
black man's veiny penis, she was impressed.  When she observed its
thickness - easily as dense as her arm - she was taken with a marked gasp
that made her nipples bud tight and her pussy quiver.  But when she kept
pulling down on his pants, and noted how the inches on the mulatto bull's
cock seemed to just go on and on and on, inch after inch unveiling like
some kind of caramel snake, and ending only a centimeter or so shy of the
man's kneecaps, she was decidedly and irrevocably amazed.



   "BOZCHE MOI!!" she near screamed.  She'd never seen a dick so big and
long in her life!

   Anya had not been a total stranger to the lure of black cock.  Not so
long ago she'd had her first encounter with it while at the abode of her
best friend Jenny Summers.  Jenny, herself, Ivana Swallows, Bianca
Blackwood and Sammy Spitzmen.  They had all taken turns slurping on the
long thick black log belonging to a young man named Samson West.  Anya had
- to her great dismay - done the poorest out of the group.  Samson's
massive cock had been too much for her untrained mouth, and she spurted up
spit it out within seconds of trying to take it down her throat.  Samson
West's big fat dick had been too much for her.  Now she was on her knees
gazing at a monster cock that made the West boy's look like...well...a
boy's.



   "Is biggest dick I ever seen!" she said, the word `dick' sounding more
like `deek', her mouth feeling the onset of phantom ache just picturing it
deep in her gullet.



   "Want a taste?" Brooks said, a devious grin forming on his handsome
features.



   "Is way too big!  No way I could take in mouth" she said, flabbergasted
by the mere thought of trying to take on such a monstrous member.



   "I think it goes nicely with those amazing breasts of yours my dear."
said Brooks, looking down with a sultry delight at the Russian's round
tits. "Let's see what they look like together."

   Anya looked down at her breasts.  She only very rarely tried putting a
dick between her breast.  The time she tried was sorely unsuccessful.  Tom
had wanted to do it with her once before, and was more than frustrated when
he saw - or rather didn't see - his cock come anywhere near the top of her
pressed cleavage.  She had found his effort amusing, yet she got only a
mild pleasure from the act.  With the third arm Mr.  Brooks was packing
however... well, daunting didn't even begin to describe it!  The thought of
an attempt however made her shake.  Christ, I'm so horny, she thought.



   "We'll start there, and work our way up to the -ahem- oral part of the
interview..."



   "Interview?" said Anya, looking up at him bewildered.



   "Why yes.  That's what this is you see.  An interview.  I've an eye for
talent Mrs.  White.  And you...I must say..."

   Letting himself trail off, Brooks observed Anya's body.  Looking at her
curves, her smooth skin, her gorgeous lips, big tits and long lush raven
hair, he felt a surge of pleasure jolt his senses.  It made his cock
twitch, coming to life with a subtle pumping of blood.  Anya saw this, and
was again left gasping at how it dangled majestically in front of her.



   "You are gifted with MANY glorious...assets."



   "You too..." replied Anya in kind, unable to take her gaze off Brooks'
monster cock and huge fist-sized balls.



   "But of course, like any employer, an interview is necessary.  A
LONG...DEEP...THOROUGH interview..." At the words long and deep, Anya
quivered.



   "What do you say Mrs.  White?" She looked up at him, and in his face she
saw the snark and bite of a challenge etched on his face.  His African
features seemed to take over when he smiled.  It set her off, his
confidence sparring off with her own knowledge of how sexy she was.

   "One question Mr.  Brooks..." she said.



   "Yes?"



   "Are you...how to say...true black man?"



   "I think the epithet you're looking for is...real nigga", he replied,
the bass of his voice indeed making him sound far blacker than anything the
raven haired Russian had ever heard.  "Indeed, Mrs.  White...despite
appearances and what you may have heard.  I'm about as real as a nigga
gets..."



   The word nigga played with Anya's ears.  Hearing it in the south, the
negative connotations it carried, it often quietly excited her.  She could
never fully understand why, but hearing it, and knowing of Mr.  Brooks'
validity as a black man.  She simply had to know, had to hear him say it.
It - for some reason - mattered to her.  And when she got her confirmation,
her brain suddenly went back to her earlier failings in taking on the
`nigga dick' of Samson West, as he had stated it to her that evening.  And
in another moment, Anya took a free hand and allowed it to rise.  Rise up
towards Mr.  Brooks and his huge nigga cock, and allowed herself to get a
firm grip on the vast stretch of meat dangling in front of her, teasing her
as it hung hard and strong.



   " < Well then... in that case Mr.  Brooks...what I say is... >" she
replied in a low pausing purr of Russian, pulling Brooks' massive meat out
of his pants and holding it, one handed, above above her face, his dick
stretching far enough in inches to where it overshot her head!



   " < I hope this big nigga dick of yours is ready for Anya... >"

   ...



   It took some cajoling, but my brother and I eventually got the drunken
Negro to spill the location of this `Congo Square'.  As we raced down the
streets of New Orleans and into the quarter where my Inna was said to have
traverse, my heart sank deep into my belly.  It was a region sectioned off
almost entirely for the blacks of this land!  A section of land where the
freed and escaped slaves once owned by these American dogs congregated and
made their own.  What on earth would have possessed my dear Inna to venture
there of all places is a wonder that I - even now in these devilish night
hours near candlelight - cannot deduce, and dare not delve to
discover...especially not after what we found upon...niet...not yet.  I
must steel myself to write of such things.





   When my brother and I arrived to the square, it did not take us long to
find my wife's location.  All we had to do was follow the drumming.  The
noise, the sound of those accursed drums beating in the distance.  From the
adjoining alleyway connecting New Orleans proper to the secluded Negro
section, we heard a clatter of booming drums coming from some distance
ahead of us.  In the dark it was hard to see the source of the noise, but
from the opening of the far alley we could see the gathered precession of
people - varying colors of black and brown and a surprising number of white
in fanciful cloaks and covers - in the distance.  We went forward, and as
we drew nearer with each step, the drumming became louder.





   The beat of the drums thundered in my chest in a manner that I cannot
fully describe in words comrade.  The beats resounded throughout my being,
and though my poor eyesight did not allow me to move forward with my eyes,
the sound beckoned me onward as though a malicious guide.  When we entered
the actual square - a huge circular quarter with tenements and work
establishments - we found ourselves in the middle of a most macabre
gathering.  It was a celebration of such insidious power and sinister glee
that it could have only hailed from the dark continents I have heard of. 
Many people, dark people of varying shades of brown, and black of almost
obsidian color were gathered, and - to my shock - a peppering of well-to-do
whites, and those who appeared to be of Spanish decent were collected into
the circle making up the archaic tableau.





   The drums given aid by the gathered crowd's persistent clapping of hands
and stomping of feet.  A band of blacks were beating on the skins of large
ethnic drums, their course hands smashing out the unfamiliar booms that
felt like individual blows to my chest.  Over the noise I had to yell to my
brother the suggestion of us splitting up to find my Inna.  I called to him
three times, though he failed to hear my words in its entirety.  In the end
however...no such splitting of our party was required.  We spotted my Inna
mere moments after, and it there where my tragic tale of horror hits its
apex oldest comrade.





   It has been suggested that I am currently suffering from the shock,
`trauma' they call it, from what my foreign eyes have witnessed in this
strange land.  Our Captain Hughes - who was conspicuously absent only until
the climax of my horror story - calls it `battle trauma', a `thousand yard
stare' which he claims to have seen on soldiers during his days in the
American military.  I know nothing of combat, but I do know that I have
seen horrors.  The disturbing image of that woman, that black temptress,
Lav-voo or Lav-oh.  Her arms swaying rhythmically to the beat, along with a
host of several others who were keeping pace and tempo with the drums.  The
black woman witch, stood at the fore of the display, a serpent larger than
any I have seen in life or in any of my books adorned on her shoulders and
coiled round her arms.  I yelled to my brother my spotting the harlot,
though in the end my words fell dead on my tongue when the tribal music
suddenly came to an abrupt hush.





   The dozens - niet - hundreds gathered at this event were still and
silent as porcelain dolls.  They all simply gazed on in marvel at the black
woman began a singular dance, one independent of the music.  I must truly
be in a rattled state, for I openly admit the woman's grace and elegance
was enough to stop one's heart.  She swayed to and fro in the gathered
circle, her arms hoisting the pet serpent as though it were a tool to be
used, yet contractively, revered.  A steady rise of words that I could not
understand came in random bursts from the crowd.  I could catch the name
"Marie" at shifting moments, as though it were a part of some prayer or
perhaps a call of affection to the dancing Negress.  My brother nudged me
at one point, and guided my gaze to the older woman who stood not too far
from the swaying ebony witch.  Da, an older woman, an aged vision in her
own right, whose high round bosoms, captivating facial features and
hypnotic dark eyes could have only identified as this Marie woman's
daughter.  Da, they were related, for witches in every culture it seems -
African and Russian alike - share their black devilry from generation to
generation.  Their sinister magic is something that is passed down from
mother to daughter, and thereafter spreads like a disease, infecting every
pure maiden it can reach...my Inna included.





   The dance continued, and gradually the noise from the crowd rose to a
hellacious pace.  The woman danced faster, and in response came a
collective grunt of garbled language that I could not understand.  Not even
my brother - far more versed in the English tongue than I - could
translate. It was a harsh yet slick sounding phrase, one that connoted
violence and a command for worship in but five syllables that went
something to the effect of; `Zom-bay-Dam-Ba'la'.  I fear of having it
translated, for I feel in my bones that it is an evil phrase.  I regret
even penning a rough attempt at translation it to this letter, and I
fervently implore you not to read the evil out loud comrade, shoddy
translation or no.  They continued this chanting for some while, and when
the chanting came to near a fever...he appeared.  He was as titanic and
terrifying a being as any poster could have shown him cloaked, and then a
great deal more when observing his naked form, which he bore openly and
proud before to the crowd as he entered the circle.





   A phallus the length of more than a foot comrade!  A penis that defied
the god's good reason and will!  It hung like a third arm between his
muscular legs, and in the seconds it took me to identify the beast's boon
as a matter of fact rather than some aggravated landowner's exaggeration,
the witch Laveau had fallen to her knees, prostrating herself before the
dark bearded giant, Prospero Black.  The witch began to - in an entirely
deploring public display - began to stroke the creature.  The act had a
disgusting effect on the observing crowd.  Some cheered, others howled, and
many more drank in what I perceived as celebration to the Black's rising
member.





   At some point the younger witch had passed off the serpent to the elder,
and in doing so I realized that the snake was merely a symbol.  It was an
affectation intended to please and beckon this bull of a man, this fugitive
slave into coming forth.  The brown woman's strokes turned into light
suckle, and the light suckles turned into heavy sucks.  And the heavy sucks
on the brute's giant penis head caused him to rise like a staff on a battle
field.  It was appalling...and yet...yet I could not bring myself to turn
away from the feat.  A part of me truly wishes I'd had.  For the next part
comrade...the next part is what has left me plagued with nightmares.





   I was doubly transfixed when the Negress Marie shamelessly removed the
upper portion of her clothing, exposing her taut flesh, lightly muscled
stomach and large bosoms to the onlookers and her dark lord.  As the Marie
woman sucked, more women entered the circle, their various clothes and
shawls also dropping away to reveal skin of a number of colors.  Dark black
women, brown skinned Spaniard women, several mulattos and one or two women
so fair their skin looked almost the paler of snow compared to the exposed
black bull.  They all fell to their knees before Black, Marie sucked on the
now engorged head until the others drew in close enough, while the other
women assisted by licking his legs, thighs, the ripples of his chiseled
black abdominals and so forth.  Thereafter Prospero began to stroke himself
before the women.  And in the onset of this, the witch began to chant in
that damnable foreign tongue of hers.





   I cannot recall their exact phrasing, nor do I truly wish to.  It was a
cadence and tambour that could only have hailed from the darkest and most
depraved regions of the world.  It carried across the square like an
invisible smoke, spreading from the epicenter of her mouth and clouding
across the gathered crowd.  And always...always punctuated with a peculiar
word.  Word, or perhaps...a name...Da a name.  For I heard at the beginning
of the mad woman's chant, her addressing the word as such.  Hear
me...Dam-Bal-la she said.  Even thinking of it and the near drunken
expression on the witch's face - as well as the other women - leaves me
with gooseflesh and palpable dread.  Upon her recital of her strange
language, the women went to work on the large brute.





   They helped him stroke his huge member, their dainty hands pulling at
the long stretch of manhood.  They took him into their mouths.  They
suckled at his enormous head, they gobbled hungrily on his massive
testicles in groups of three and four, sometimes even five, and licked all
along his dark shaft as the witch chanted.  They were ravenous, reduced to
nil more than crazed harlots.  One particular woman - the fairest of the
lot with white skin and inky jet black hair - was especially spirited in
the ritual.  She forwent the act of sharing the slave-king's massive member
- now erect and outstretched over the women like a warrior's beating club -
and went to taking the whole bounty into her mouth unassisted.  From my
position in the crowd, my shocked eyes could only make out the back of the
woman's head as it bobbed forwards and backwards in a frantic - almost
superhuman display.  She did this in concert with her arms, that turned and
jerked on the expanse of the bull.





   Even from a distance and over the crowd of onlookers I could hear the
various suckling and choking sounds belting up from the woman, along with
the Negress's evil calls.  The onlookers hooted and hollered, they clapped
and took deep drags of their liquor, they whistled and wooted and hailed
the woman with all manner of disgusting praise.  We were all united in the
fray of decadence as the lone woman forced herself front and center of the
collection, and took on the black beast alone with her mouth and hands. 
And as she slurped and spurted, he head lunging forwards and backwards, the
Black man stood firm.  His arms at his sides and his head held high.  A
savage king being serviced by a fair skinned white woman with stunningly
large and round bosoms.  Breasts that matched even the witch Marie and her
witch mother.





   And in that crass detail, I realized the identity of the woman.  The
large breasts as they bounced from the woman's efforts to suck, I'd see
that motion many a time.  Da...seen it many times in the bed chamber of my
home...a close frontal view of my Inna when she would bounce up and down
hypnotically upon me during our love-making.  When the dark-haired woman
turned her head to get at the unswallowed parts of Black's inhuman cock, I
saw the countenance to be none other than my own Inna.  My Inna, bended on
both knees, sucking at the manhood of a dark Negro.  Sucking it in an out
of her mouth with the fury of an opium addict upon the pipe.





   This single image never fails to give my pen pause...I have sat here for
hours now attempting to describe the ordeal to you as coherently and
uncrudely as possible friend Kostya.  Watching my wife, the woman I have
pledged my lifelong love and devotion to...to see her prostrated before
that...that...that monster and his inhuman phallus!  It is more than any
good Russian man could or should ever have to bear.  And through it all,
the mad witch continued chanting, ending each sentence with that accursed
name of Dam-ba-la





   In the moments that followed, my stomach went ill.  Ill in such ferocity
that I almost longed for the ocean sea once again to consider it soothing
by comparison.  My brother shouted something to me.  The crowd around us
fell into an uproar.  When my brother grabbed my shoulder, I'd heard him
say the words,





   "Grab her brother!"





   It was only in the next moment that I saw the gun he had been holding.
My brother held a small firearm in his hands.  He must have grabbed in the
minutes of our departure from the Inn.  His look of desperation inspired
mine, and in turn ignited my madness.  I rushed the crowd; blind rage and
want for my wife to be returned to me taking over common sense.  I heard
the shot ring out just before grabbing my Inna's arm, pulling her away from
the long sloppy pole and stepping over the other women, uncaring of whether
or not my steps had harmed them.  The act of this angered the crowd and
enraged the Black man.





   His eyes went from admiring the sight of my Inna sucking at his evil
penis, to glowering at me with a hatred hot enough to brand cattle and melt
iron.  He spoke to me, though it was in crude English that I could hardly
make sense of.  I was far too concerned with throwing Inna over my
shoulder, and fighting off the flurry of blows she - in her own apparent
madness - rained down upon me.  She beat her fists at my back, she clawed
and scratched at my arms and neck, struggling to break free.  Her raven
hair flew about in a way that made her look like wild and rabid, her bare
breasts heaving and flopping about only making the sight of her more
primitive.





   " < This evil place has possessed her!  > I shouted to my brother.





   " < Unhand me Sergei!" > she screamed.  " < Not finished!  He did not
finish!  UNHAND ME!  > It was madness, pure madness Kostya.  The beast and
the harlot reduced my wife to a nymphomaniac.  The feralness of her dark
eyes took on an otherworldly pierce and glaze.  The witch then spoke, and
in turn the large brute called after me.  With the onset of several more
shots fired - whether from my brother's gun or someone else in the crowd I
do not know - the gathering scattered in a chaotic stampede.  The rumble of
so many feet going in every direction made the ground quake, and the
shouting and screaming could have been the accompany orchestra of Ragnarok,
the end of days itself as we read in the old books and Slavic stories.





   Later, myself - Inna hurled over my shoulder and held through the insane
strength of panic - and my brother would regroup and make our way back to
the end.  Inna's crazed spell would wear off only in small increments, as
she would constantly berate me for interrupting the evil ritual.





   "< You!  > She would growl, a pointed finger aimed at my face, her own
turned into a cruel sneer.  Her chin and cheeks smeared with her own spit
and (to my profound disturbance) secretions from the Black monster.  "< You
ruined it!  You ruined it!  He did not finish!  He was going to finish
before you showed up and ruined everything!  It was going to be beautiful,
and you ruined it!  >" My Inna would repeat this for the better part of the
night in our quarters inside the Inn.  My brother had to empty his flask
sedating her, forcing her to drink the strong vodka until she lulled into
an uneasy sleep, and even then...on her tongue was,





   " < It was going to be...beautiful...>" as she fell asleep in her bed.
As she slept, I took hot water and rag to her face, cleaning the disgusting
liquids from her white cheeks and chin.  And against fear and faith, I
asked my brother what the giant Negro had said to me before we'd made our
escape.





   " < I-It was nothing brother.  The madness of a stupid Negro
affronted..." > Against this, I pressed him to tell me.  With a deep sigh,
he then translated the giant's words upon me,

   "She gon git her turn, white man!  Don't care how long it take, she gon
git her turn!"

   ...

   Anya took the long stretch of Brooks' cock, and laid it firmly between
her huge breasts.  It hung so hard and high that - even as Brooks bent his
knees to align his cock between the giant round mounds - the head of his
monster cock went to near the top of her head!



   "Such big boy you are..." purred Anya as she placed both hands on the
sides of her breasts, squeezed them together and proceeded to gently move
up and down on Brooks' nigga dick.  The feeling of warmth and softness
inbetween Anya's big titties sent Brooks into orbit.  She was massaging his
cock with nothing but her mounds, the dryness being replaced almost
immediately with wet spit, and the raven haired Russian - her tongue
outstretched - drooled onto Brooks' massive stretch of meat.



   "Is better when wet, Da?"



   "Ahhh, very much so my dear" cooed Brooks.

   Anya fell into a groove on Brooks' dick, the muscles of her arms flexing
from the effort of trying to keep her pieces and Brooks' in place.  Brooks'
monster cock had grown to an astounding twelve inches in response to her
efforts, and she was loving every inch as it slid rhythmically up and down
her chest.  This isn't a penis, Anya thought, it's a baseball bat.  She
could feel herself getting wetter with each up and down pass.  Her nipples,
exposed to the air, only made her antsier.



   "Faster" said Brooks, a command rather than a request.  Anya obliged and
moved her chest up and down faster.  The feeling was sensational.  Anya
huge rack brushed against Brooks' caramel skill and erected feeling from
all the vast network of veins that popped from the base upward.



   "Is good?"



   "Is very good" smirked Brooks.  By that point, Anya's nerves had worked
up to near maddening degrees.  Brooks turned her on in ways she couldn't
even attempt to compare to other men.  She couldn't tell if it was his rock
solid abs, his masculine facial features or the god-sized dick that was now
brushing across her full lips, but she knew any and all of it made her want
more.



   "But Anya want more" she then said, and without a word, she shoved
Brooks backwards with a push of both her arms.  Brooks stumbled in his
slacks, his arms slightly flailing in the surprise of being suddenly
knocked off balance.



   "Whoa, oh shi-!" Brooks said as his ass plopped onto the white cushions
of the couch behind him.  "You little..." Brooks said, a fake sneer on his
face as he watched Anya approach.  The smirk on her face, a sultry smirk of
mischief, made his nigga dick rise another inch.  The front side view of
Anya enormous breasts and the hypnotic sway of her ass as she crawled
towards him made him made the veins on his cock surge and swell with new
life.



   "Miss Laveau is very lucky woman, havink such huge man to please her..."
Anya said, raising a hand and cupping at one of Brooks' brown testicles. 
It felt like a softball in her hand, and to Brooks Anya's firm grip made a
dark spot of pre-cum form on the tip of his humungous wang.  With her other
hand, Anya tilted Brooks' big black cock down to near mouth.  She kissed
the head lightly at first.



   " < A kiss for good luck.  >" she said.

   And without another word, Anya pressed her lips against the head of
Brooks' cock head, her lips puckered as though giving it a gentle kiss, and
then slowly - almost maddeningly so - slurped it in as though it were a
single giangantic string of spaghetti.  Inch after light brown inch entered
her mouth, and inch after inch made Anya's eyes grow wider.  And I thought
the West boy was hung, she thought.  It took the fullness of her lips and
all the force her hollowed cheeks could muster to get just the first fat
six or so inches into her mouth.



   She used her grip on Brooks' balls to aid her down, using his huge
testicles as a kind of anchor for her descent.  The combination of suction
and the pressure of the gorgeous Russian pulling him made Brooks swoon, the
smallest threat of an orgasm tickling the base of his monster cock as she
took more and more of him into her mouth, while pulling down on him.  She's
literally got me by the balls on this one, he thought.  And as if she'd
heard his thoughts, Anya White - bowed on both knees before the mulatto
mogul - got to sucking her second black monster cock.

   ...



   A most peculiar thing happened to the party guests in the Brooks manor's
foyer.



   "What on earth is that?" said Ronda Van Buskirks.  This was her response
to the sudden rise of music playing from the speakers placed on the four
ceiling corners of the room.  The queerest and most exotic drumming, a
rhythmic thrum of hands on tightly wrapped skins pulsing above them.



   "Th'Sam Hill?" came mayor Van Buskirks, who stood next to his wife
wearing an equal expression of confusion.

   The music was not loud enough to be considered a nuisance, nor did it
strike the senses as altogether unpleasant to hear.  As a matter of
fact...the steady crash of drums echoing through the room actually had a
rather soothing effect on the eardrums.  They rippled through one's body,
and gave a quite pleasant buzz on the body's insides.



   "Just a bit of mood music" replied Adela Laveau from her position at the
top of the staircase.  All the party goers looked up at her, and then
around the room to gauge their fellow guests reaction to the strange
selection in music.



   "It sounds so..." began Cassie Van Buskirks blankly to the tall platinum
blonde waitress Kami, not quite knowing how to finish the sentence and its
effect on her.



   "Ethnic?" was the word that came from Candy Cox, who -hearing the young
blondes' statement - finished it in her stead.



   "Well...I knew this Brooks had some eclectic tastes...but this seems a
little overboard, doesn't it?" said the bankers thick bodied wife.



   "Well..." began the twin Mel.  "This is different..."



   "Sounds like one of those Indian rain dances..." added Mindy.  The twins
were a fair bit passed tipsy, and by now they'd already made it a point to
make a verbal note of everyone else in the party who had had been standing
on a few drinks passed their measure.



   "Looks like Mrs.  Kindle's passed her limit..." Mel giggled.



   Across the room, the twins could see Mrs.  Bobbie Sue Kindle.  She had
the strangest look on her face.  It wasn't strained, but slightly upturned
in a way that made her seem anxious.  What's this feeling, Bobbie Sue
thought.  I feel so..., her thoughts wandered as she shifted her gaze to
the opposite side of the room.  Melvin stood where her gaze finally
settled, and after observing the twerp's black facial features, she allowed
her eyes to travel downward.  Down and down, passed his brightly colored
tie, starched button down shirt, and ending just at the view of the young
Negro's crotch.



   Bobbie Sue knew full well what sat in there, and the memory of what it
could do - no - what it had done to her in the past, cause a slight squeak
of pleasure to escape her lips.  For a moment she thought she could keep
her urges sealed.  Keep her hunger for the well hung nerd at bay for a
least one night while out with her husband.  And for a moment, Bobbie Sue
even managed to quell her desires.  That was...until the words accompanying
the drumming finally kicked in.



   It was a rich, low, basin creole spattered French.  Old language that
was seen as common in the South.  The words came across on the speakers,
and it was only when the collective warmth first began to rise in the
crowd, did anyone recognize the sultry cadence as Adela Laveau's own,
recorded and then played over the sound of the now intensifying drums.  The
men in the room suddenly found themselves aroused at the effeminate bay of
the voice.  And for reasons that would have made them curious - if they
weren't so drunk of that delicious wine - they found themselves wanting
very much to act on the rising boners resting inside they finely tailored
slacks.  Rising slowly with the words that fell over the crowd like a thick
blanket of warm - oh so relaxing - smoke,



   "Zombi Damballah, Zombi Damballah..."



   This repeated several times in Adela's silken voice.  The women in the
crowd, marked most notably by the twins, Cassie and Ronda Van Buskirks,
Candy Cox and Bobbie Sue Kindle, raised a hand to their bountiful chests.
The gesture could have been perceived as a one of shock or surprise,
however the steady rubbing and stroking that commenced every time the word
Damballah was spoken, gave onlookers suggestions of otherwise.  The women
unceremoniously - though strangely uniform in a collective grace of motion
- separated from their respective husbands and fathers, and proceeded to
fan outward in approaches towards the security guards who had been
positioned on the outer perimeter of the room.



   If anyone had taken the time to track the women's gazes, they'd have
noticed them to be settled on - quite hungrily - the four black men who had
been standing silent guard at different points of the room during the
duration of the event.  Candy Cox walked toward and thereafter got to
climbing the staircase, where the tall, brooding jet black Negro Zulu
stood. The expression on the old black man's face; stern and almost
expectant of the older woman's advance, and in response allowing the
slightest smirk cross his big lips.  The twins, Mel and Mindy, made their
way towards the dark brown skinned guard Darius.  Cassie Van Buskirks
strode - almost as if in a trance - towards the youngest guard Terrance,
while her mother Ronda closed the gap between herself and the black suited
man known as `Big' Rich.

   The men in the room, marked most notably by Mayor Van Buskirks, the
sheriff, and the owner of the Coxville bank were about to speak out and
jump into action on the women's sudden abandonment and approach towards the
guards.



   "Ronda?  Cassie!  Where are you--" belted the mayor, who succeeded in
taking one full step towards his wife before he was blocked by a short very
busty figure standing just before him.



   "Anything I can do for you, Mr.  Mayor..." said the waitress, Delilah,
with a girlish giggle.

   At first the mayor hadn't looked at the girl, being too busy trying to
get the attention of his -obviously drunk- wife, and trying to stop her
before she and his evidently equally drunk daughter made a fool out of
them.



   "Wh-what, no!  Move aside!  I need to get to my-" he said while blindly
trying move the bubbly blonde bimpo aside and make his way through the
traffic of gathering people.  The mayor suddenly noticed a shift in the
room.  All of the women having suddenly stopped what they're doing and
making their way towards the man nearest to them.  Out of the corner of his
eye he could see the outline of groping and kissing going on.  But that
couldn't be right, the mayor deduced, focused on getting to Ronda before
she ended her trek towards the huge niggers standing watch.  He couldn't
altogether discern why, but he felt in his bones that he had to stop before
she reached the black bastards.  Had to stop her before...

   "Ici me Damballah créateur de toute vie," came from the overhead
speakers.



   "Are you sure" asked Delilah coyly.  "Because this looks like it could
use some...servicing."

   It was then that the Mayor felt the firm grip of Delilah's hand on him.
He suddenly stopped, looked down and saw the tiny blonde's hand gripping
his cock brazenly in front of everyone!  To the mayor's dismay and
contradictive pleasure, he saw the wanton, singularly hungry gaze held in
the beautiful young girl's eyes.  And in that moment, he couldn't deny that
his cock - all four inches of it - was hard as a rock.



   "I can feel it..." said Delilah, her smile spreading.  "Here, let me
help you with that sir..."

   What came next would never be fully understood by the attendees of
Brooks' manner.  Nor would it be remembered, sans vague memories of intense
pleasure, exertion, frustration and the ghostly remains of phantom feeling
- a silent craving - sitting deep inside the wombs of every woman who
attended the party that night.

   ...



   The hostess Delilah sunk to her knees.  She had the mayor's pants down
almost as fast as the other women hostesses had themselves upon the other
notable men in the room.  The mayor hadn't had much time to process exactly
what was going on.  He was far too taken with the fact that his cock was
being sucked on with tremendous fury by the petite blonde.  This tater-tot
cock is so easy to suck, she thought.  But it seemed like he, as well as
the other men in the room, were receiving similar treatment from the
hostesses.  The platinum blonde Kami was passionately kissing the sheriff,
while the sexy black girl Tanya was tearing at the pants of the banker. 
With no words they had pounced on the mayor and his lackies, all of them
rock hard, and none of them prepared for the vixens who had taken them.



   The mayor's glance shifted from one side of the room to the other to
observe that the little Asian servant - Mariah - as well as the silent
beauty Merissa were both rubbing the chest and kissing some other man not
five feet ahead of him.  And instead of sparking people with disgust and
outrage, instead of people sprinting for the front door to get away from
the offense, similar displays were building and eruptting all over the
room. The simple act of the first wave of women somehow exciting the entire
host of thrity people to melt into a singular tableau of kisses, gropes,
strokes and crazed sucking.  It distracted him so much, that the anger and
confusion he had previously been feeling towards his wife and daughter's
strange behavior had suddenly been quelled, too satisfied by the warm mouth
of the sexy little blonde and she bobbed quickly on his dick, and the sight
of the other gorgeous women going about anyone - man or woman - they
crossed with similar treatment.



   "Ici me Damballah créateur de toute vie." Nous attendre ŕ recevoir votre
bénédiction." The vocals of the strange music track bellowed, sending the
room up another few degrees by the raw reaction it coaxed from the crowd.



   It didn't take long at all for the mayor to come, and when he did he
spasmed so hard that he lost his balance and tumbled backward onto the
black and white marble floor, meeting face to cheeks with a random couple
who had already gotten into the more active portions of their tryst, the
man plowing into the woman hard from behind with all six inches of his hard
cock.  My god, thought the mayor, suddenly feeling himself aroused by the
sight of the young nameless couple.  Already he found himself hardening
again.

   "Montrez-nous votre amour puissant Damballah.  Nous baptiser avec vos
graines" said the overhead voice.

   And Delilah was already upon the mayor, stripping off her white button
down shirt -exposing her disproportionally large mounds - and tugging at
her panties, pulling them downward while saying,



   "Well...that was quick...and I doubt you could last longer than that if
I use my pussy."

   Delilah then proceeded to mount the mayor of Coxville, and rode him with
the style and grace of a professional horseback rider.  The mayor only
lasted another nine seconds against the energetic blonde's onslaught, and
before he knew it, he found himself quaking yet again, sweat beads forming
on his bald pate.



   "Oh my GGGAAAAWD!" groaned the mayor.  What had happened to this young
woman?  She was a charming little thing mere minutes ago.  Now she'd been
replaced with a sex-charged maniac.  His words however were somewhat
drowned out with the rise of other voices that groaned and grunted in the
room.  People all around him were getting into the act of pleasing one
another.



   "Nous attendre ŕ recevoir votre bénédiction.  Montrez-nous votre amour
puissant Damballah.



   The hostesses were well at work on pleasing all the patrons.  Kissing,
licking, touching, and about as much fucking as they could get in before
the climax overcame their white male partners.  Tanya had stripped down to
show off her flawless light brown figure.  Mariah's black skirt was done
away with, her shirt unbuttoned to expose her snow white breasts.  Kami was
in the process of unveiling her massive mounds to one particular fellow,
who appeared to cum at the mere sight of them.  'Big Red' Tammy was
completely naked, overtaken entirely by the two white dicks she was
sucking, and made short work of in what seemed to be under a minute.



   Merissa, the mysterious beauty, had taken off her shirts and prowled the
foyer, while Marisol was well at work slurping on the dick of the mayor's
assistant.  None of this seemed to slow the gorgeous women's paces.  And as
bodies started to collapse and fall to the floor from their efforts, half
or fully nude in the collective lust of the maddening crowd.  It appeared
as if every time one of the hostesses had a go a patron, they'd recover
within mere moments to move on to another.  The fallen patron would come
down from his or her orgasm some minutes later, and once again join the
fray.

   And during it all, Miss Adela Laveau maintained her position on the
second floor overlooking the scene.  Silent as the bodyguard Zulu, who was
in that moment taking off his tie and throwing it dismissively behind him
as Mrs.  Candy Cox grabbed at his belt buckle.



   "Strong silent type huh?" she cooed.  "Let's see if Candy can't make you
squeal..." as she yanked at the older guard's belt, and pulled it off in a
single slick motion from around his waist.

   And it was through the confident upturn of Adela's full lips that her
satisfaction was shone.  A subtle display to mark the start of what was to
be one of the hottest nights ever to befall the quaint southern town of
Coxville county.

   It's definitely going to be a hot time in this hick town tonight, she
thought, just before subtly sliding a finger up her smooth coco snatch.

   ...



   The Russian goddess took a cautious pace at first, remembering what
happened the last time she'd tried taking a big black cock without
consideration of how much she could handle.  When Brooks commanded her to
go faster, she did.  And when she felt comfortable with the sheer amount of
mass probing her mouth and brushing against the sides of her mouth, she
took more.



   "Mmmm--mmm..." she purred, her head bobbing up and down at moderate and
later semi-fast speed.  Her other hand never released itself from Brooks'
balls.



   "Damn woman" groan Brooks.  "If this is how they suck dick in Russia, I
might have to reconsider moving to Coxville."

   And with that, Anya took the compliment to mean that he wanted her to up
the antee on him.  And up the antee Anya did.  Her head motions got faster,
her lips clamping down tighter on the vast veiny mass prodding in and out
of her mouth and throat.  Jesus, its enormous, she thought.  I feel like
such a whore sucking this huge black cock.  And that revelation - oddly -
only seemed to make her want to suck harder and faster.



   "Unnngh dayum..." cooed Brooks.



   She loved hearing his silky voice groan in approval of her skills.  It
made her wet and beckoned her onward.  Usually her blowjobs finished off
Tom in under a minute, her full powerful lips draining the man of all he
had before she'd even gotten enough spit gathered.  Brooks however was the
polar opposite.  The spit and slobber that soon began dribbling down
Brooks' cock couldn't come fast enough for the sexy Russian housewife.  It
flowed in both clear streaks and foamy gobs and it went deeper and deeper
into her throat.  She lurched several times when Brooks half-bucked and his
maasive nigger cock hit the back of his throat.  Fuck, I hope my throat can
take so much cock, Anya thought.



   "Fuck!" Brooks said, acknowledging that now, they were venturing into
the deeper realms of Anya White's throat.



   As she braved the first set of fat inches into her mouth, her lust for
the man became apparent by the wild look her eyes adopted.  This is soooo
much fun, she thought.  It was a struggle to keep such a huge black cock in
her mouth, but she was excited at the challenge.  She'd prove herself to
the mulatoo mogul that she could take a real nigga dick.  The spit she was
steadily allowing to drip and drool out of her mouth allowed her to keep
her pace.  She slurped and sucked at the bulk of what she had in her mouth,
and let the hand she'd been using to cup Brooks' balls massage him
steadily.



   "Mean head game on you Mrs.  White..." said Brooks approvingly.



   She gasped upon allowing the full nine inches she ingested to fly out of
her mouth and flop backwards towards her black bull, his nigga dick
standing high enough in length to where it ended at man's sculpted chest!
Jesus, she thought, already I've made such a mess.  The amount of Brooks'
cock that she had been feasting on was coated with her spit and mouth
juices.  The trick she had learned from Jenny served her well, but it
irritated Anya when she saw how little of it she'd really managed to get
down her throat.  She tilted her head down and took one of Brooks' huge
testicles into her mouth.  She sucked and kissed on it hardily, while
Brooks used a hand grip the back of the woman's raven hair.  Her full soft
lips and tongue felt like a wet heaven on his balls.



   "That's so good.  Extra love from Russia" he said.



   'MMMmmhm', she murmured in agreement, lapping on one ball, then the
other, and then burying her face in his crotch altogether.  She shook her
head on his lap, and tugged at his sack with wet sucks of her full red
lips.



   "Got damn!" Brooks moaned, "not afraid to go below the belt either I
see."

   When she finally let go of Brooks' caramel nutsack go, there was a loud
pop that echoed inside the room, almost as if in reward for her efforts.



   "I Russian, I never afraid.  Not even of big black nigger cock." She
took her hands and put them back on Brooks' long strong dong.  She jerked
it off, her hands mixing in the spit from her first attempt at a blow job.
She wanted more, much more from this hung black man.



   "We'll see about that", smirked Brooks, and flicking a finger in a `come
here' gesture, she rose to her feet.  "Dress, off" he commanded.  Anya
loved how Brooks gave her orders.  It went against her nature to take crap
from any man as a daughter of Cherniderivo, but she wouldn't dare deny Mr.
Brooks of whatever he wanted.  Not with such a nigger dick that big and
long.  When she saw him grow another two inches before her eyes -peaking at
a whopping fourteen inches- her pussy got soppy wet.  In a near frenzied
speed she stripped the lone article of clothing off her body, pulling it up
over her head and throwing it behind her.  She kneeled down to pull off her
heels, but paused when Brooks said,



   "No no, leave the heels on..."



   Anya smiled, "Such commandink man you are Mr.Brooks."



   "I know what I like..." he said.  "And right now I'm really liking the
idea of you riding this big black dick." Brooks took a moment to drink in
Anya's perfect body.  The curve and tautness of her hips and abs, the huge
swell of her breasts and the simply delicious look of her budded nipples.
Hearing the words almost made Anya cream right then and there.



   "Come here, let me see how Russian women ride nigga dick."



   "< Mmmm-sounds delicious >" said Anya in Russian.  And with that she
went to the handsome black mogul.

   ...



   The main hall of Brooks manor had melted into a mass of intense moans
and labored grunting.  The image of it - chaotic as it was - was that of a
wet clamoring mess, a dog pile of white and tanned bodies - peppered at
essential points and edges with muscular black ones - scattered everywhere
across the hall, all of them stuck or transitioning from sex position to
another.  And all the while, the entrancing creole chant played ominously
above them, beckoning all in the room on in their deeds.



   The flow of the Brooks orgy went something like this; the thirty some
odd attending guests, the white southerners of Coxville, had fallen into
the throws of lust within moments of the chant's beginning.  They had taken
to each other like moths to the preverbal flame, and hadn't given so much
as a thought or concern to why they were suddenly so uncontrollably horny.
All they knew was that the flesh around them was activating their
reproductive organs in the worst way possible, and their parts simply
demanding to be used as hard and fast as they could manage.  The truly
peculiar thing was that the white men of the party found themselves burning
out almost as quickly as the festivities had begun, with the bulk of the
credit going to the assistance and efforts of Brooks' troop of gorgeous
hostesses.



   The bubbly blond Delilah - perky in spirit as well as breast shape - had
finished Mayor Van Buskirks within moments of taking him into her mouth,
his cum squirting out in two even juts of milky white that barely hit the
tip of her tongue.  Thereafter he barely had time to recover with the
little blond hopped atop him and ground his cock into submission for a
second time with her tight pink pussy.  Upon realizing he would require a
longer amount of time to recover, she would wander off into the crowd to
find a new guest to please.  The latina bombshell Marisol in turn had made
short work of not one, but two men in one burst!  The county's sheriff and
the owner of the Coxville bank had found themselves being all but accosted
by the shapely tanned skinned beauty with the rise of the festivities. 
Stripping off her clothes in front of them to reveal her stunningly tanned
and toned body and pert round tits, the two men instantly went rock hard.



   Before they knew it, under the guided otherworldly hum of the overhead
speakers and the sheer euphoria of the drinks they'd consumed, they took
the dark eyed latina.  The bank owner's penis -fully erect at five inches-
pumped in and out of her open mouth with little difficulty, and the
sheriff's cock -maxed out at six inches- pumped into her with the same
depth and force from their maintained cowgirl position.  They grunted and
groaned under Marisol's orders to < go deeper, go harder > in her native
Spanish, and the pair finished almost in unison in under a minute.  And
Marisol would reply to this with a less than impressed mumble of,



   "< Well...that was easy >".  And with that she was up and onto the next
set of guests before the feeble drips of semen spat from both men had even
managed to fall from the tips of their softening white cocks and onto the
black and white tiles of the floor.

   "Big Red" Tammy hadn't been able to keep her randomly chosen partner
from squirting himself in a finish within seconds of her simply stripping
out of her tight fitting garments and revealing her huge breats, full
womanly curves, and simply delicious looking pussy - an adorable diamond
shape of pubic hair marking the point of entry.



   "Oh, you gotta be kiddin me!" Tammy would say in a frustrated huff. 
"Not again!" She'd then storm off in search of another hard cock in the
hope of better results, though her incredibly built body would prove too
much in even mere sight for most men at the party.

   Merissa and Mariah had successfully devoured a set of five men lined up
before them as though it were child's play.  Tanya and Kami working as a
dark and white skinned duo had gone through three male attendees and also
excited several women in mere minutes.  Due to the ever widening gap in
available penis, the women in the crowd were eventually forced to take on
each other, licking on one another's dripping wet pussies, sucking one
another's large breasts and tonguing each other's open and wanting mouths
with their own.  Leading that charge was "Big Red", who by her third
premature cock erupting before her had grown too frustrated with the men of
the crowd to continue searching, and settled on having her way with bank
owner's packed and stacked dark haired wife.



   Slim effeminate fingers replaced slim white cocks that seemed to just
spasm and go limp within seconds of entry.  And while the masculine grunts
in the room peaked and fell silent, the women's groans grew louder and
hungrier by the second.  As a result, the white males in the party had no
choice but to step aside and wait for their shrunken cocks to recover.  A
line of them, the Mayor included, fell to the sidelines, tugging and
milking their man parts in attempt to revive themselves and reenter the
fray.  The ones who did recover would then reenter the orgy, only to felled
again with equal or greater ease than the last time.



   It was a problem to be sure, the gap in the number of women to men was
growing.  While there were still some men holding their own in the crowd,
more were falling every minute.  However not all the men in the orgy were
falling so easily.  On the outer rim of the wanton group, the black
bodyguards were holding their own against the growing onslaught of pussy,
and showed no signs of going off any time soon.  Ronda Van Buskirks and two
other zombified women had hit her knees and had gotten to work slurping and
sucking `Big Rich's giant black cock without so much as a word.  Ronda Van
Buskirks - leading the collection of gathered cock suckers - her once neat
blonde hair quickly fell out of its beehive bun from how fast her head was
bobbing forwards and backwards on that brown monster dong.  Dear lord this
is a great big ol' nigger dick, she thought, her mouth and throat getting
stretched to their limits from Rich's fat expanse of eleven inches.  The
other women - three or so - gathered near tried their best to keep up, but
would choke themselves out of the ordeal on too much dick for their small
white mouths, making Ronda the leader of the kneeled group of women based
on her stout efforts.



   "His dick is just too big" one sexy brunette said sputtering saliva
where she knelt.



   "His balls taste so good" said a random woman lapping at Big Rich's
underside.



   "I can't handle a dick this big." came another woman.  "I'm only used to
little dicks like my husbands..."

   They spoke out of a mix of drunken freedom, and under the liberating
decree of the creole chant communicating with them.  Freed of limitations
from the wine, the women gobbled and sucked, choked and trash talked tiny
cocks without fear of response from their peers and elders.



   Van Buskirks daughter Cassie meanwhile was caught in a solid embrace in
the muscular arms of the young bodyguard Terrance.  Their lips and tongues
were clasped in a wet lock, and both of Cassie's hands were hardily jerking
off his brown monster cock.  Her dress sat in a pool of frabic beneath her,
and her gorgeous lily white body stood pressed against Terrance's taut
brown one, her big white breasts pressed hard against his solid dark chest.
The young Terrance had no idea what the hell was going on, but upon the
sexy little blonde's approach and her literally ripping off his pants at
the zipper, he wasn't about to complain.

   Mrs.  Bobbie Sue Kindle was pinned against the refreshment table, both
her husband and the lanky negro Melvin standing before her.  Bobbie Sue's
husband had succeeded in getting his cock into her mouth first, however she
would only keep him in her for a moment or two, before spitting him out and
going absolutely nuts on Melvin long black snake.



   "Mmm~Melvin!" she'd mouth, clearly more turned on by the black dweeb
than her own husband, who would be left with no other option but to stroke
himself as he watched his wife furiously bob back and forth on the young
coon's king sized cock.  A part of him felt he should have been upset,
angry even at the fact his beautiful and all too often conservative wife
was attack a nigger dick with such raw passion.  He'd known Bobbie Sue to
be subtle with words and physical displays to point of almost calling her
prude.  Now however, now she was gobbling cock as though it were her
profession.



   He couldn't deny how sexy she looked however.  Bobbie Sue's husband
would never say it allowed, but watching his wife choke and fight for every
inch of Melvin's cock was one of the hottest sights he'd ever seen.  In
fact, he'd gotten so caught up in the display that he'd accidentally cum
waiting for his turn.  He grunted and tried to stop himself from emptying
completely, but by the time he'd stayed his hand, the creamy white glob of
semen had dribbled from the head of his dick and onto the floor.  He
frowned, and by the time Bobbie Sue had managed to pull out the excess
amount of black inches out of the deepest part of her throat in a wet gasp
for air, her husband had already sulked off to the corner of the room to
try and recover.  Bobbie Sue herself never even noticed he'd gone, her
stunning eyes looking up at her black stud the entire time.



   And meanwhile the giant negro Darius was holding the backs of both the
twin's Mel and Mindy's heads as they hardily slurped wet trails along the
sides of his big bruiser of a dick.



   "Ohhhh shit, ya'll bitches bad" cooed the deep voice negro.  In response
the twins gave long throaty moans and growls of approval as they shared his
black monster cock.



   "MmmHm!" they mumbled in unison.  God, two of us on it at the same time,
and its STILL too much for us to handle thought Mel.  This guy must be half
horse, thought Mindy.

   And at the top of the stairs, standing as a kind of grand center piece
to the amassed display of fucking, stood Coxville's elder queen, Candy Cox,
who had done away with her clothes altogether and had already commenced
getting fucked hard and deep by the jet black giant of a nigger dick
belonging to the elder guard Zulu.  Zulu held one of Mrs.  Cox's giant
white breasts in a dark hand, his mouth suckling on the pink budded nipple,
while the other hand cupped at a full round ass cheek.  Candy Cox stood on
one leg, her high heel shoe emphasizing her remarkable calve and leg
muscles, while the other was wrapped around the muscular V shape of Zulu's
hips.  From their position on the raising staircase, one could easily see
Zulu's big black pole moving into and sliding out of Mrs.  Cox hot pink
pussy.  His great big black balls slamming up into her undercarriage with
all the gentleness of a brick hitting pillows.



   "OHHHGH FUCK BOY!" hollered Candy, her face buried in the dark Negro's
muscular shoulder and biting down on his dark skin in an attempt to brace
herself for each blow.  "I haven't been fucked like this in AGES!"



   Zulu said nothing, merely continuing to hit deep into Candy's pussy with
his monster cock.  And all around them, the party continued, the overhead
speakers dictating the collective stride in its strange otherworldly
creole.



   Anya White had had only two men inside her over the course of her entire
life.  The first was in her home town of Cherniderivo.  A local boy who's
name she just now couldn't recall, and whose dick went no deeper into her
than her middle and index finger did while pleasuring herself.  The second
- and sole penis until now - was Tom's, who (to her great dismay) was
barely larger than her two fingers put together in both length and width.
Having Samson West's cock wedged in the deepest part of her throat had
jolted her into realizing how inexperienced she was at conquering large
cocks, the skills used thus far on the monster cock she now serviced
striking her as unprecedented.

   That exclaimed, Anya was at a complete loss with how she planned to take
Alexander Brooks' monster cock into her pussy.  Upon reaching him at the
couch, she leaned forward and lifted her legs in the early motions of a
cowgirl's straddle.  Immediately she felt Brooks' giant cock wedge and push
itself along the insides of her thighs.  My god, its like he's rubbing a
baseball bat between my legs, she thought.  She lifted her body up to align
his cock with her hot wet pussy.  Her body was on fire, and judging from
how warm Brooks' cock felt in her hand - how hard it pulsated in her firm
grip - she knew he was just as worked up as she was.



   "I'm ready for you" he said to her, responding to her earlier statement.

   His bass voice beckoned her on, and without another word, Anya - risen
well over a foot above Brooks just to align their parts - lowered herself
downward, slow and seductive on his massive brown meat.  When their parts
finally connected, Anya gasped.  The head alone stretched her out further
than anything she'd ever felt!



   "Ohhh~" she cooed, a raising moan that grew louder with each inch.  She
held Brooks' long and fat cock with her free left hand, and placed the
other on Brooks' muscular chest for balance.

   Her legs muscles flexed and tensed with her descent, which seemed to
take forever in her eyes.  Brooks let his head tilt back in the heated
pleasure of the sexy raven haired Russian's pussy.  It was wet furnance
inside Anya, and Brooks could have easily envisioned his dick getting
enveloped in her sweet insides.  And indeed, Anya's pussy devoured Brooks'
dick, spreading with his entrance and then wrapping around the head,
straining to keep it inside and then opening again to take in more.  The
first five thick inches were the most difficult for Anya.  At the third fat
throbbing inch she came instantly, losing her grip of the cock and almost
her balance as well trying to weight herself with the flats of her feet on
the couch.



   " < AGGH~GOODNESS!!  > She howled.  She wanted to stop, to bask and
coast on the first orgasm she'd had from a man in...well...ever.  But
instead, she fought through the pleasure, and continued her descent.

   Her body clenched, and as a result Brooks got to feel the rapturous
tensing of his Russian sluts inner muscles clamp on his big black cock.



   "UGGHN shit!" grunted Brooks, his calm and cool demeanor cracking a bit
at what had to be the tightest pussy he'd ever felt.

   By the sixth inch, doubt began to overtake the raven haired beauty. 
Already Brooks had surpassed any man she'd ever fucked with his mere
entrance into her.  At eight inches she could feel Brooks' cock throbbing
strong inside her womb, and at the ninth she was amazed at how much she was
actually able to get inside her.



   "Bozche moi, such a long way down!" she half complained.  "Is such long
cock Mr.Brooks!"



   "Keep going baby, you'll hit bottom...eventually..." he encouraged her.

   By the eleventh inch, Anya paused.



   "Cannot take much more."

   In response, Brooks took one of his large powerful hands and smacked her
hard on her right ass cheek.



   "Keep going!" he demanded, his voice booming in a command.

   Anya yelped, jolted from both Brooks' raised voice as much as the slap
to her ass, which instantly bore a Brooks' sized palm print on the meat of
her cheek.  It startled her, but the smile that formed on her face from the
pleasure betrayed her.  She loved it when Brooks gave her commands, almost
as much as she loved following them.  Anya then placed her other hand on
Brooks' chest, and used his body as leverage to guide herself down the rest
of the way.  A twelfth inch...



   "< UNGH So much cock!  >" cried Anya



   "Keep going!" demanded Brooks.  *SMACK!*

   A thirteeth inch...



   "< Bozche moi!  I can feel in my throat!  >



   "Almost there.  You better not stop bitch." *SMACK!*



   A fourteenth...



   " < OHHH GOD!  > as Anya felt her insides clench up in the tease of yet
another orgasm.

   And then... plap.  The sound of Anya's ass plopping itself atop Brooks'
pelvis.



   "Unngh, that's it baby!" he belted, allowing himself to enjoy the
fullness of Anya's wet pussy.

   Anya squirmed with delight at the feat she'd just pulled off.  The
hugest cock of her life, and she'd put it inside her without splitting
herself in two!



   "Now ride that nigga dick!" *SMACK!*

   And as commanded, Anya White got to work riding the biggest nigger cock
in town.

   Brooks' dick spanned well inside her, and movement was minimal for her
at first.  She started by grinding her hips, letting Brooks' cock grate and
pulse inside her.  Brooks groaned with pleasure, and basked in the warmth
his Chernoderivan beauty's technique.  Anya's pussy was something of a
wonder and contradiction to him.  It went deep, able to take all but two
idle inches of his cock.  However, though her pussy ran deep, it was
equally (if not more so) tight in fit.  The full length of his nigger cock
felt like it was being choked by the raven haired beauty's woman parts.  It
was a perfect fit, fashioned as though the two had been made for one
another.  Deep but tight, truly a wonder and privilege that only Brooks
would be allowed to appreciate.



   Her hips ground and pumped - subtle and steady at first, but all too
soon evolving into a furious stride atop of him.  When she came down from
another small orgasm, she leaned back - placing one of her delicate hands
on his chest - and slung the other behind her to rest it on his solid
thigh.



   "Fuck yeah, ride it just like that baby.  Got damn that's good."



   "You enjoy Anya's pussy, da?"



   "Hell yeah, work it baby."



   The arching and grinding motions of her body looked simply stunning. 
She rocked back and forth with an increasing gradual force, allowing her
body to acclimate to her well hung stud before going harder, all the while
enjoying the shocks of pleasure from the friction and heat of their bodies.
Anya was losing herself to this well hung negro, letting herself go wild.
She would have never even thought pleasure like this was even possible
until several weeks ago.  Her first semi-orgasm gagging on Samson's cock
was her first clue, but this...THIS was far more intense than that by far.
Anya tilted her head back, flipping her jet black hair in the process. 
God, Jenny was right, she thought.  Nigger cock is the best!  She rode him
like this until she came again.  Her insides gushed, and she quivered at
how hard Brooks stayed inside her.  Her husband Tom would have fallen three
times over by now if Anya ever got around to fucking him this hard.  Brooks
however stayed hard as diamond inside her, and the look on his face - while
awash with lust and loving her on top - seemed nowhere near close to
finished.  I think I married the wrong American, she thought.



   " < BOZCHE MOI!  >" She hollered as she creamed atop her caramel cock.

   After she came down from that spell, Anya grew daring.  Harder, she
thought.  Fuck him harder!  And with that, Anya White took her other hand
and placed it on Brooks' other knee.  Using the moguls knees as a point of
balance for her arms, Anya then began to bounce in his lap.  Her inky hair
swooped and cascaded with her up and down motions, each successful rise and
fall of her ample ass and toned thighs being met with a loud Plap!  Plap!
Plap!  When connecting with Brooks' powerful legs.



   "UHGH shit baby!  There you go.  Ride that dick!"

   And ride it Anya did.  All the years of horseback riding in Cherniderivo
served the raven haired beauty well in this endeavor.  She galloped and
bucked atop Brooks.  The backs of her arms flexed their muscles in their
maintained balance, and Anya's heels clacked loudly against the carpet
floor.  Brooks was gritting his teeth at how intense Anya was getting, but
his monster cock showed no signs of wearing down.



   "Yes!  Yes!  Yes!" Anya cried upon landing each motion.  Her solid ass
bounced and bumped hypnotically in Brooks' lap.

   At one point Brooks looked down to view the source of their mutual
rapture.  In sparing a glance he could see up close how hard his Russian
hottie was working.  Her ab muscles were pronounced and flexing with each
arch of her hips and ass.  Her toned medium tanned thighs were clamped down
like vices against his own, and her hairless pussy - lord almighty - was
dripping wet from the work.  Her large gorgeous breasts bounced
mesmerizingly up and down, and he couldn't help but take his hands and
clamp down on them, holding both her hard budded nipples with his thumb and
index fingers.  Anya White was fucking his dick with everything she had! 
Every few strokes would make her face contort in a grimace of pleasure. 
The only time she would cease her rapid motions was to allow herself to
cum.



   Brooks could feel the clench and tightening her anomalous pussy each
time, and each time he himself felt he just might cum by proxy of her
pleasure.  After one particularly hard orgasm from the hard working slut,
Brooks took the initiative.  Using his strong arms, he lifted her from him.
She half fought him at first, using her hands to try and keep him still. 
However she could not overpower him, and he lifted her from his huge
bulging cock with minmal effort.



   "No!" she begged.  "Put back in!"



   "Hold on baby" Brooks replied.  "Just changing things up a bit".

   Brooks stood up from the couch, Anya rising with him, her eyes blazing
and wide with what Brooks immediately identified as signs of the sexy
Russian already being `dick drunk'.



   "Looks like someone's dick drunk." He chuckled.

   Ignoring his teasing, Anya dropped to her knees and instantly attacked
Brooks' cock with her mouth.  Furiously she throat fucked herself.  She
sucked at his bulbous head and lapped her inner juices off the sides of his
monster cock.  She was determined to get that huge black dick in her any
way she could, using any hole she had available.  In the single break she
took from gobbling Brooks' arm-long dong, she choked,



   "< Off your big dick, my pussy tastes almost as good as the wine >".



   "Da?" Brooks replied coyly.

   Anya then smirked.



   " < Let me check...hand me that glass >"

   Anya's nodded to the wine glass that was sitting behind Brooks on the
glass table next to the couch.  The black wine still sitting inside it, the
condensation on the outer rim of the glass almost seemed to mimick the heat
of their fucking.  Brooks leaned backwards and grabbed the glass, and
handed it to Anya.  She held it up above Brooks' long outstretched cock,
and then - without ceremony or a word of preparation - poured the contents
of the glass onto his dick.  The cool wine tumbled from the glass and
splashed onto his cock in a slim stream.  Anya guided her pouring of the
glass up and down Brooks' cock.  From the bottom to the top she released
every drop of it onto his dick, paying no heed or concern to the carpet as
it dripped down his shaft, passed his balls and onto the floor.  And then -
again without word or warning - she took Brooks' massive cock back into her
mouth.



   "Mmmmhmm" she mouthed in a muffled slurp.

   She sucked hard on Brooks' cock head, and pushed her throat to its
limits getting as many inches of Brooks' wine soaked cock into her mouth as
possible.  Dear lord!  And I thought the wine tasted delicious before, she
thought.  Brooks' head tilted backwards, his eyes rolling in the back of
his skull.  Anya's cock sucking skills were simply awe inspiring.  Her full
lips sucked with so much forced that a man would swear she was trying to
suck his balls out through his urethra!  Damn, this fine bitch is taking
dick drunk to a whole new level, thought the wealthy mogul.  When Anya had
sucked every drop of wine from Brooks' dick, she attacked his large
testicles.



   Her wild tongue and full lips near drove the mulatto milionare mad with
pleasure.  The woman had no fear of taking nuts in her mouth, and she
proved that scores over with how she gripped and pulled them in her mouth.
His balls are so big, she thought.  He must have a huge load sitting inside
here for Anya!  She finally released his grapefruit sized balls from her
mouth, lines of spit left in her wake, and she gripped them in her hand. 
She then went back to lapping on the sides of Brooks' dick.



   "You're simply amazing Mrs.  White." Said Brooks.

   Anya's sexy almond eyes panned up to look Brooks' into his.



   "Thank you Mr.Brooks" she replied.  "Now...give Anya more nigger
cock..."

   Now she was making demands by the tone of her.  Brooks smiled.



   "Yes Ma'am.  How the hell can I deny that face".  He lifted Anya from
her spot on the floor, ignoring the puddle of spit, wine and traces of bile
that she'd made choking and gagging on his cock.

   He took one of her perfect tanned legs, and lifted it to his hip.  Anya
balanced herself on a single leg, her pussy open and now exposed, the calve
muscles of her landed leg pronounced as she stood on the ball of her foot.



   " < My my, what's this?" Anya said in a playful purr.  Brooks took his
monster cock, and with a single hand guided it towards Anya's unguarded
pussy.  The anticipation nearly killed the raven haired Russian, and the
tension only thickened when she felt the fat head press against the outer
lips of her wet pussy.



   "Now..." said Brooks, "now you gon get your turn".

   Brook then plunged his huge monster cock deep into Anya's hot
defenseless pussy.



   " < FUCK!  > cried Anya, unprepared to take so much at once.  " < SO
DEEP!  >" she cried.



   "Told you" said Brooks, "You gon get this work!"

   And the couple's intense bout of fucking continued.

   ...



   Deon, LD, Stubby, and Todd crept in a silent line across the empty
street and towards the Brooks estate.  The night was dark, near pitch black
from a notable absence of moon and starlight.  Dark clouds blanketed most
of the sky, and the stillness in the air made it seem as though time itself
would not touch the county this night.  It was an odd phenomenon, though
one that the quartet only acknowledged in passing as a little more than
convenient aid in their sneaking into the manor.  Deon - the mastermind
behind the group's mischief - led the trek, the large duffel bag slung
snuggly over one of his huge shoulders.  LD trailed not far behind him,
while Stubby and Todd brought up the rear, with Todd looking nervously
behind them every few seconds to make sure they hadn't been seen.



   "And you're sure we've got a way in?" whispered Todd, his call being
directed to Deon at the front of the party.



   "You ask me dat one mo' time hot hands and I'mma slap the shit out'chu!"
bellowed Deon in response.  "Now shut tha fuck up..." And the group walked,
sticking to darkness and behind the various objects lining the street. 
Stealth was key in this little misadventure.  Three young black man roaming
around the Coxville suburbs would easily be considered news and mark them
as prime targets in the aftermath of what they were about to get into. 
They had to be quiet, silent so as to not bring any attention to
themselves. Todd tagging along was bad enough in Deon's eyes, and every
second he regretted bringing the cocky cracker more and more.



   "Dats the spot." Whispered Deon.



   "What was yo first guess nigga" replied Stubbs, "the fact itz da only
mansion in town, or the da big ass mailbox dat say "Brooks" in front of tha
muthafucka?" Stubby, always one for getting in jokes, chuckled to himself.



   "Fuck you nigga!" replied Deon in a hark that only just barely kept
under a roar.



   "Shhhh!" came LD, "ya'll niggas shut the fuck up.  You gon get us made
befo we even get close."

   The troop continued until they reached the front gate of the manor. 
Poking a head from behind one of the cars settled just in front, LD looked
ahead.  He saw the young twerpish greeter sitting on his chair near the
threshold of the gate, his head cocked at an angle could have only
signified his being in a dead sleep.  The steady inhale and exhaling noises
coming from him hinted of this as well.



   "Guard `sleep..." said LD, looking back the boys behind him.  Deon then
raised his mighty frame to look over the top of the car.



   "He ain't no guard" he said upon lowering himself back down to the
ground.



   "How do you know?" asked Todd.



   "Cuz he's a little shrimp ass cracker, dats why.  Brooks got mo sense
than to hire that stacka twigs to guard his shit.  Also, he ain't one of
the ones my cou-uh-" Deon stammered, as though catching his words before
saying something he felt he ought not.  "My contact...told me bout.  Dey
only s'pose to be four dudes watchin da place, all of them brothas..."



   Todd didn't like Deon's answer.  Assuming that the young man at the
front of the manor wasn't a guard simply because he was white and skinny
(granted VERY skinny by the look of him...but still...) didn't outright
disbar him from being considered bodyguard material.  The front gate hung
wide open, unprotected and showing no signs that it would close, the
automatic swing of the gate being -conveniently to the point of suspicious
- turned off by the look of it.



   "Aight" said LD, "where dey at though?"



   "Not here...just like ma nigga said they'd be.  Let's go." And with
that, Deon rose from his spot behind the car, and continued on his path to
the mansion, the other three boys following just behind him.  Deon, in a
gesture that was either perceived as fearless or just plain stupid, strode
right back the sleeping greeter, not even trying to keep his steps light so
as avoid waking him.  The others moved silently behind him, though LD did
have to smack Stubbs once across the back of the head when he noticed him
attempting to mess with the sleeping boy's hat.  It took the group mere
moments to cross the yard and accompanying garden.



   "Round tha back" said Deon, "keep quiet".  The group rounded the back of
the manor.  Todd grew more restless with each step.  This is too easy to be
real, he thought.  His suspicions weren't unmerited.  Where were the
guards? Why would they up and leave their post at such an odd and almost
obvious time of night, when theft of such a wealthy man would most likely
occur.  Judging from the grand detail of the garden as they passed, Todd
could tell this Brooks fellow was sitting on more than a few bucks.



   "I-I got a bad f-feeling about this guys" said Todd, his voice betraying
fear from the slight crack his voice contained.

   He could feel something air.  Something strange and ominous.  It
traveled through the ether and wafted through the White boy's nostrals. 
Something was off about all this.  Their entering grounds was far too easy
in his eyes, and the fact that he was running with three black guys in the
middle of the night, in a part of town that wouldn't hesitate to pull guns
on anyone half these guys shade made him more than nervous.  Deon then
about faced mid stride, moving quicker than any of them would have expected
from his massive frame.  In the blink of an eye he had Todd by the front of
his shirt.  His eyes were dark, his face contorted into an ugly and
menacing scowl.



   "All I been hearin from you all night is whining hot hands!" Deon's
voice was still kept to a whisper, but it maintained a bass line growl that
instantly sent shivers up the White boy's spine.  Todd - against his will -
flinched at the gesture.



   "The fuck dude!" Todd squeaked.



   "Yo chicken shit ass is a liability.  We get inside dis bitch I bet'not
hear you sobbin like a bitch.  Noise like that gon get us nabbed.



   "Ease up D" came LD from behind the hulking negro.



   "You get us caught in this mu'phucka" Deon continued, ignoring LD's
call."And yo snow ass ain't gon hafta worry bout no `Hot Hands' jokes no
mo... cuz I'mma rip the muthafuckers off yo arms and shove one down yo
throat and the shove the other up ya ass.  Then fo kicks I'mma make you
figure out how to clap.  You feel me knockin?"



   Deon scowling face was an inch away from Todd's, his breath meshing with
the air from his nostrils and making him look like an angry bull on the
verge of frenzy.



   "A-Alright man!" said Todd, squirming under the giant negro's grip. 
"Alright, I hear you.  Let me fuckin go already!"



   "D, drop him man." LD said, this time sounding more like a command than
a friendly request.  After a long moment, Deon - starring down Todd all the
while - released him, giving him a light shove at the last moment that sent
Todd falling backwards several steps.  Fuckin nigger could've broke my
neck, Todd thought.  And the group proceeded, not another word shared among
them until they reached the back of the manor.  Oddly, the group rounded
the property to find - to LD, Stubby and Todd's surprise - that a back door
had been left open.  Before it stood, cracked and unguarded.



   "Ma nigga..." Deon said to the ether, a smirk curling from his big lips.
"Let's go." And Deon, not another moment of thought, went on ahead.  The
three others looked around the area.  No guards, not one in sight.  Stubby
and Todd looked to each other in outright confusion.



   "Nothing..." Todd said.



   "Fuck it...let's go" said LD, afterwards creeping in through the door
himself and leaving Todd and Stubby as the last to enter.



   "You stay out here Hot Hands." Said Stubbs.



   "Hey, fuck you!" replied Todd, "and why do I gotta stay outside?"



   "Cuz" Stubby began, tip toeing to the door.  "One, you a little ho ass
nigga who gon get us caught squeeling like a broad...and Two...somebody's
gotta be lookout.  You see anything or anyone, let us know."



   "Let you know?  How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Todd asked.



   "I dunno...give a signal of sumthin."



   "What kind of signal?"



   "Fuck if I know...whistle or sumthin."



   "Won't that be too loud?" Stubbs stopped at the threshold, actually
considering it.



   "Yeah...maybe...aight...uhhh...just say `more gray poupon'.  Todd looked
at Stubby with an expression that screamed `are you fucking serious?'



   "What?"



   "...That's the worst signal ever."



   "Don't have ta be genius nigga, we just gotta be able t'hear you."



   "Fuck...ok" Todd cursed.  And with that, Stubby rushed into the mansion,
leaving Todd outside, to sulk and curse his ever agreeing to join in on
something so stupid.  ...



   Stubby was amazed at what he saw on the inside of the manor.  He'd never
seen anything like it.  The place was every bit a live version of the
mansion he'd often daydream about having if he were a world famous rapper
or football player.  This was definitely the kind of place he could picture
living in.  Only Stubby knew if he owned this place, he would have it
stocked with endless droves of pussy.  Black pussy, Asian pussy, Latina
pussy, Mid-East pussy, mixed pussy, and TONS of white pussy - he'd have a
harem roaming up and down the halls - butt naked - if he owned this place.
The decadent parties he'd throw in a pad like this would trump anything
anyone would ever see or experience.  Stubby could just picture it in his
head.  Hell, Stubby could even hear the imaginary sounds of moaning and
joyous screaming from good and hard fucking he'd get in on his imaginary
army of hot women.



   Stubby was so caught up in his daydreaming, his head tilted and taken
with the high ceiling of the place, that he didn't see Deon and LD standing
ahead of him at the hallway's end.  He noticed neither one of them until it
was too late.  He bumped into them with a hard thud, the two massive
figures barely budging due to their superior size.



   "Ah, fuck!  Stubby cried.  "The fuck ya'll niggas doin?" He got no
answer from either of them.  Stubby would have been prone to throw another
insult at being ignored, but at that moment he was too busy with the
realization; the noises - the sounds of loud sex - did not flee his
eardrums upon crashing into his two teammates.  Indeed, LD and Deon were
standing like statues before him.  They both had their backs to the shorter
negro, and didn't acknowledge Stubby's bumping into them at all.  They were
frozen, looking at something Stubby observed within a moment.  And still
the noises persisted.  I know I didn't fuck my ears up shit bumpin into
these two, Stubby thought.  And the noises persisted still, even growing
louder now by the sound of it.  Numerous additional noises, the plap plap
plap that Stubby recognized as skin to skin contact picking up a pace from
several different directions.



   And on top of that noise there was something else.  Not the booming bass
tones Stubbs would have playing in his fantasy, but a strange off kilter
drum beat.  The drum beat was steady, and sounding like something out of
Roots to him.  Stubby slowly walked over to where Deon and LD stood after
aimlessly looking around him.  Noone, no guards nor any other soul in
sight. No one was making the music, and he couldn't see a source to strange
- almost creeping - lilt of whatever voice was talking over the drum beat.



   What language it was, Stubby had no clue.  It reminded him of one of
those lame foreign films his teacher - Mrs.  Blackwood - had him watch with
his class every now and again at school.  All he was ever able to glean
from those affairs was that 1.  The weird language made him sleepy, and 2.
Coxville high would most likely have to order specially made chairs that
could hold Mrs.  Blackwood's legendarily large and deliciously round ass.



   "The fucks goin on?" said Stubby, walking towards Deon and LD.  Still
neither negro spoke, their gazes fixed to whatever was happening in the
room beyond them, the grand hall that Stubby was certain they shouldn't
have been in.



   "Yo, what'chall niggas doin?  We gon get..." Stubby's question died
then, when he came to within eyesight of what his boys were looking at.



   At first the scene didn't make sense to Stubby.  He knew what his eyes
surveyed couldn't possibly have been what was actually happening before
him. LD and Deon stood wide-eyed, their mouths ajar in awe and in as much
disbelief as Stubbs.  Before them in the large foyer of the estate, was a
collapsed mass of writhing and moaning bodies.  A moving portrait of stark
naked humanity, almost two dozen by Stubby's guessed count.  The greater
majority of those involved in the loud, sweaty, no holds barred orgy taking
place before the three Negroes were white, with the greater share of the
group being women.  White women, who Stubbs recognized as county locals.



   Walking around town Stubby would always take his time to note the
beauty, curves and bust sizes of every white woman who crossed his path (or
crossed the street to avoid him).  They were all scattered across the hall
proper, all of them in an array of positions that ran the gamut of
commonplace to highly creative in Stubby's view.  Arms and legs tensed and
releasing, big breasts bouncing, ass cheeks motioning up and down while
men's hips pumped and thrusted towards them.  He recognized one middle aged
woman, the one from the town bank; a thick bodied dark haired white woman
with meaty thighs and a big ol jiggly ass.  She was getting pounded hard
from behind by a muscular brown skinned brother who Stubby had never seen
before, sweat beads rolling down his shoulders and sculpted chest from what
looked to be a mighty effort of slamming his huge cock into her from
behind. She moaned and screamed as though she were going insane, her hands
gripping tight onto the circular carpet, her eyes wide and wild with
pleasure.



   "YES!  YES!  YES!" she screamed with the slam of each thrust,
encouraging the nigga to keep hitting her deep with his long thick dick. 
Stubby's gaze then fell to the rising staircase furthest away from him.  In
the middle of the steps he saw another white woman - this one blonde - and
significantly older in the face than the other enraptured people present.
Her body however - tight and stacked beyond reason - looked like it
belonged to a woman half her age.  She was collapsed onto the steps, riding
a giant dick belonging to another Negro.  This man - also unfamiliar to
Stubbs - was also older, and was hands down one of the darkest brothas he'd
ever seen.  The white woman - who Stubby found painfully familiar - was
galloping hard on the black man, riding his long ebony dick like a cowgirl
on a wild horse.



   "Oh, oh, GOD!" she cooed, her teeth exposed from strain and delight from
getting the veiny black pole deep into her wet pink pussy.



   And to the far left of the room, Stubby saw more of the madness.  Two
young women - gorgeous identical twins - were bowed on their hands and
legs, their huge breasts hanging round and low beneath them, their round
asses propped up and exposing their wet identical snatches.  They were both
sucking greedily at both sides of a humungous dark cock, belonging to a
dark skinned tank of a brotha who - again - Stubby did not recognize.



   "Don't hog it Mel!" mouthed one girl.



   "Calm down Mindy" mumbled the twin, gobbling selfishly at the underside
of their black bull's shaft.  "There's more than enough for us both" cooed
the other.  They slurped wetly at it, their thick spit bathing the dark
member in dripping fluids.  They nearly fought over the huge round dick's
head, and would cease fighting only when one could clamp their mouths onto
one of his two giant testicles.

   And next to them - nearer to the refreshment table - Stubby saw yet
another young woman who was also in the middlemost of maddened fucking. 
She was being held up in a mid-air carry position by a young black man, who
was holding her up with both his muscular arms and slamming upwards into
her with his impressive ten inch cock.  The blap, plap, blap noises echoing
across the hall.



   "Ugh, fuck yeah!" She screamed.  "Fuck me just like that.  OHHH SHIT. 
YES!  JUST LIKE THAT!" The young blond was going wild from how hard and
deep she was getting it, and her demanding tone made it sound like she
would orgasm at any moment.  The only time she wasn't screaming was when
she had her lips pressed against the black man's in a deep kiss.  That's
the mayor's daughter, thought Stubby in shocked realization.  He'd recalled
seeing her on almost all the campaign posters, advertised as `Coxville's
own Southern Rose'.  Now Coxville's Southern Rose was getting her tight
pussy pounded by a brown skinned nigga who looked like he could have held
her up in that position all night.  And judging by the ferocity and passion
of their kissing, Stubbs concluded; damn...dat bitch in love with the dick.



   And while the hardcore orgy carried on with no signs of stopping, Stubby
noticed the flow of action going on at the center of the room.  Seven drop
dead hotties were getting their fuck on, laying waste to the rest of the
random assemblage of men in the room.  A near painfully beautiful Asian
girl and a sexy well-toned woman of presumed Hispanic race were servicing
three and four men - white middle aged men - at a time with their mouths
and hands!  At the same time a huge breasted and wide hipped redhead, and a
deliciously big bootied platinum blonde were fucking the shit out of two
other white men on the floor.  Near that sight, as fine ass light skinned
sista getting DP'ed by two slim white cocks on one of the couches, a dark
haired woman with mesmerizing eyes was getting fucked sideways by the man
who ran the bank on the adjacent couch, and another petite blond was
putting the final hard sucks on the four inche cock belonging to a man who
Stubbs was all but certain was the sheriff.



   Along the far wall, Stubby also noticed the line of other men.  All of
them were either sitting or leaning against the huge glass mirror near the
underside of the rising staircase.  All of them were white, naked and
stroking their slim spent cocks.  The limp state of dicks however
conflicted with the hungry gaze of their eyes.  They looked eager to rejoin
the action, desperately wanting another go at the seven sex frenzied
hostesses, and they would whenever they were able to stroke themselves into
a semi-hardened state again.  However, upon reentering the fray, the host
of unfamiliar women would fell them within minutes, sometimes mere seconds
of the reinitiated fucking.  These bitches ain't no joke, thought Stubby.
And lord was he right.  The hostesses sucked and fucked like women
possessed, and were able to take down all those ill equip crackers with
ease.



   And while the women seemed to be having fun toying with the men, it
appeared as though the only real satisfaction being had from the actual
fucking was from the Coxville women, or more precisely, the Coxville women
who were fucking the black men.  It was madness, unfiltered craziness from
someone's wildest and most freaky fantasy.  And Stubby's jaw dropped in
near disbelief when he spotted Melvin - the little twerp ass nigga himself
- going balls deep into...Mrs.  Kindle?!  Stubbs couldn't believe it, even
though he was seeing it for himself.  Coxville's biggest nerd was fucking
the brakes off one of Coxville's hottest bitches.  And by the look on her
face, how her eyes rolled back into her head at times from the force of
Melvin's cock, she was loving it!  Madness...pure madness...



   "What..." mouthed Stubby.



   "The..." LD continued, breaking his silence only to trail off at the
sight of the mayor's wife getting carried to the refreshment table by one
of the black men, and then getting pounded out deep and hard on top of it.

   "FUCK!!!" Howled Mrs.  Van Buskirks, as the long span of black cock
invaded her.



   ...











   "< FUCK!  > Screamed Anya in Russian.  She was in the onset of yet
another orgasm brought by her stallion nigger bull.

   The long stretch of Brooks' cock pumped into her.  His hips motioning
back and forth, the V shaped muscles of lower abs working overtime to get
into Anya's begging pink snatch as deeply as possible.  She screamed and
hollered with each prolonged dive, her right arm roped around the back of
Brooks' neck for balance, while her other arm would switch between grabbing
at one of her huge tits - tweaking her hard nipples - and tugging
chaotically at the top of her raven hair.  The married woman was going wild
in the hands of Coxville's new resident.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth
stayed open in a sexy O of equal parts shock and strain.  She lost track of
time, and by now had no idea many times she'd cum from Brook's power and
control.  Small orgasms seemed to pop up at random, while larger ones would
come back to back with no warning.  He had one of her long toned legs
hoisted up into the air, placed on one side of Brooks' broad caramel
shoulders.  He had one of his strong arms roped underneath that leg, his
hand cupping at one of her firm ass cheeks, while the other arm resided by
her waist, balancing and bracing her for each deep thrust.



   He'd rock into her with tremendous force, attempting to bury as much of
his massive light brown cock into as possible.  Each time he'd hit the
womb, a wet smack and slight suction noise upon exiting would reward his
ears.



   "GOODNESS, YOU'RE SO STRONG MR.BROOKS!" Anya screamed.



   "Three hours a day in the gym...comes with its benefits" Brooks grunted
in response.

   Anya was riding what felt like a never ending crest of ecstasy.  Though
she was having multiple orgasms and loving every inch of what Brooks had to
over at this moment, she had to reflect on her initial doubts about black
men.  Her best friend Jenny Summers had given her quite the show and
advertisement for black cock some ways back.  Her gorgeous blonde
girlfriend fucked and sucked that West boy's big nigger cock like a proper
slut.  Anya had been thoroughly turned on by the display, but hadn't yet
decided (at the time) if she were willing to go all the way with a black
man.  It was bad enough she'd blown the young West boy in front of her
friends, but having sex was a nigger, and at a formal party?  Anya would
have sworn to know better.  Brooks however was something else entirely.  It
wasn't just his `safe' lighter tone and jovial demeanor that made him such
a prime mate.  it wasn't even his giant black cock that was currently
rummaging and ramming into her guts.  It was...something else.  Something
Anya couldn't quite define or even wholly understand.  Brooks just
felt...'right' to her.  His cock, pumping in and out of her wet pussy.  His
giant balls clapping against her puckered anus.  The sopping wetness of her
pussy as it worked in waves of double to accommodate that huge stretch of
man-meat, it all just felt...right.  Like it was `supposed' to be there,
and should have been there a long time ago.



   Anya's body resized and altered itself accordingly to her black lover's
will, and her pussy would flex in delight as he entered her again and
again. The fact she couldn't even recall exactly how she'd come to give
herself over to the charismatic mogul didn't even seem to matter to her
now. She knew they'd talked during the party, shared a few laughs and a
common love of the Russian language.  She knew she `liked' the man, but
`how' Brooks had managed to take her to this private room, make her give up
her mouth, big breasts and glorious pussy up so completely...it baffled
her.



   "Check this out!" Brooks said confidently.

   With that he moved his other hand from Anya's hip, and placed it on the
underside of her other ass cheek.  In one motion he had Anya in the air,
and was doing so with just both his hands.  The move caught the sexy
Russian house wife off guard.



   " < OH MY!  >" she squeaked.

   She wrapped her other arm around Brooks' neck, and thereafter held on
for dear when - without warning - Brooks got back to pumping into her wet
pink gash.



   "OH FUUUUCK!" She hollered, as Brooks thrusted his meaty cock into her,
maintaining a strong carry position by swinging her toned ass into his
hips, hard.



   Their flesh smashed into each other, Anya's senses getting rocked and
jolted, while Brooks enjoyed the force and subsequent echo of Anya's tight
ass slamming against his muscular thighs.  This Russian slut's body was
built for taking on black cocks like his...though - in truth - there were
no cocks like his.  The angle of his dick would bend at the middle during
certain pumps, but her pussy was more than generous in taking in as much of
him as humanly possible.  From an underside view, Anya's ass would jiggle -
two white round orbs of flesh popping with the entry of a long veiny rod -
every time Brooks collided with her, her raven hair wafting like a black
waterfall behind her, contrasting beautifully with her white skin.



   "UGH, FUCK this pussy is amazing!" Brooks grunted.



   "OH GOD YES, FUCK ME MR.BROOKS!"

   Anya's insides -as Brooks freely confessed - felt nothing short of
amazing.  Hot, wet, tight but pliant.  Yielding under Brooks' superior
strength, but not at all unwilling to fight his cock with her tensed inner
muscles.  Brooks had been in plenty of pussy in his day.  Women from all
over the globe, and in waves of two, three, sometimes four at a time!  Anya
White's pussy however, hands down beat them all.  It could take a beating,
but at the same time drain at his manhood, making his testicles beg for
release every other thrust.  The only other woman who could make Brooks'
cock feel like this and go toe-to-toe with Anya was Adela, who still
(admittedly) held the crown as the hardest, most intense fuck of his
life...in this aspect at any rate.  However, as far as white women went,
Anya - no doubt - reigned supreme as his goddess.  He gave Anya every inch
her pussy could take, and then just a bit more to push his own pleasure. 
From time to time he felt the tingle and early onset of his own orgasm, yet
through his training was able to press this desire down.  It made for his
own set of tiny orgasms, which beckoned him on.  He kept his core tight and
kept up his pace.  It wasn't long before Anya started fucking him back. 
She wrapped her long legs tightly around him, gripping his back and hips
like a boa snake around its prey, and ground her hips hard into him.



   "< I want more!  Give Anya more big dick black man!  AHHH!  >" she
howled.

   This beckoned Brooks on, making him got even harder.  BLAM!  BLAM! 
BLAM! Came the resulting sound.



   "< AAAAAGH FUCK!  >" Anya screamed.



   "YEAH, YEAH!  GET IT!" Brooks grunted back.

   The White woman and the black man kept this pace up for as long as they
could.  Anya would come twice more before Brooks - his arms and hips on
fire from the effort - finally let her legs back down onto the carpet. 
Anya's pussy was on fire, and her legs and thighs were screaming.  The
pounding she'd taken had left her disoriented to the point she wobbled
where she stood.



   "Oh...oh fuck...oh god" she mumbled, the epitome of dick-drunk.



   "I ain't finished with you" said Brooks, holding her by the uppermost
part of her arm to keep her from falling over.  "Not by a damn sight, I
ain't finished with you.  Over here!"

   And with that the mogul guided her back to the couch they'd been using
before.  Sweat had formed up in a sheet on her body, and beads of
perspiration in turn had appeared on the chest, shoulders and arms of her
Negro bull.  But still, the man showed no signs of being close to
finishing. Bozche moi, Anya thought, all that and he's still got more in
him.  Her husband Tom wouldn't have lasted anywhere near this long.  Brooks
had pounded her good and deep, and yet he STILL had more to offer her.  At
this a welling sense of uncertainty bloomed inside of her.  How much more
of this can my pussy take, she thought.  But instead of filling her with a
sense of nervousness and the onset of fear, a devious - near sinister -
little smile crept across the raven haired Russian's gorgeous face.  How
much more of this CAN my pussy take?  And at this question, intrigue took
root, a physical reply coming in the form of Anya's pussy growing even
wetter.

   "UNG!  UNG!  UNG!  YEAH!" Brooks belted proudly as he pumped into Anya.

   The pounding he was giving the raven haired Russian was unlike anything
she'd ever thought possible between man and woman.  Lying on her back - her
round ass cheeks hanging slightly off the edge of the couch cushions - Anya
lapsed into another thunderous orgasm.  Her legs, which were spread and
being held firmly by the light skinned Negro at the ankles, shook violently
as his long thick cock invaded her.  Long and deep, his dick so long it
felt like an arm inside the further part of the White woman's womb.



   Looking down at the epicenter of their fucking, Anya was amazed by the
hypnotic sight of the long stretch of man-meat slipping into and then
retracting from her soaked pussy.  She'd never have guessed herself capable
of taking such a massive dick.  And yet, there Brooks was, towering over
her, his tight well-defined muscles popping as he slammed downward into
her, his big balls swooping down to hit her unprotected anus.  Anya's eyes
rolled into the back of her head when this occurred, Brooks' testicles
teasing the pleasurable spots of her tight butthole.  When this would
happen, Anya's hands would grip and clutch at the couch cushions, her lips
tightening and her teeth clenching from the intense pleasure overtaking her
body.



   "DA!  DA!  LIKE THAT BROOKS!  FUCK ANYA JUST LIKE THAT!"

   And fuck her Brooks did.  He went at her again and again, showing no
patience or quarter to the black haired slut.  Anya loved seeing how hard
Brooks worked to please her.  When her hands weren't clutching the edges of
the couch for dear life, they were caressing Brooks' abs and chest, pulling
at Brooks' broad shoulders and bringing him in for an intensely passionate
kiss.  Her full red lips locked onto his for as long as she could manage,
before her mouth morphed back into an O of shock.  As Brooks' speed
increased, hush thrusts hitting her pleasure spot at a faster pace.  Anya
used a hand to grip the back of Brooks' head, he fingers digging into the
back of his head so hard her fingers went numb.  Forcing his gaze to stare
at her's, their foreheads pressed together in the throes of passion, Anya's
piercing dark eyes burned into Brooks' brown ones.  She'd cum more times
than she could count, and now - more than anything - she wanted Brooks to
do the same.  He'd proven himself a champion not climaxing from Anya's hot
wet pussy clenching and constricting like the grip of a boa snake on his
humongous wang, but now - Anya decided - it was time to give up the chase,
and deliver the hot load that she knew was reaching a boiling point in his
huge balls.



   " < Cum for me!  >" she demanded, refusing to let Brooks' head pull away
from hers.  "< Give me your cum!  I want every drop of it, NOW!  You will
GIVE every drop to me, NOW!  >"

   Brooks had decimated Anya's fit knockout body.  In the end however, it
wasn't her huge round tits, miraculous hot pink pussy, perfect bubble butt
or sexy full lips that made the mogul fall.  No sir, in the end it was the
terse demands - belted in Russian - paired with the stern fervor of her
sexy dark eyes that finally proved to be the breaking point for Mr. 
Brooks. He felt the rising quiver from his loins, the pleasant tingle that
started from the base of his long dick and rose in an almost paralyzing
elevation to the top of his cock.  Two more hard pumps; WHAM!  WHAP!  And
Brooks withdrew his big black cock from the depths of Anya's stomach.



   Though the sudden vacancy inside her body left her feeling empty,
incomplete without her black stud, she hopped to attention from her back
without hesitation.  Her full ass cheeks still planted on the couch, but
her body propped up to where her face was level with Brooks' hips Anya
grabbed Brooks' exploding cock with both hands - one hand on the middle of
the expanse, the other gripping his balls -.  The load of white semen
sprayed from Brooks' urethra like a high powered hose.  Though Anya's
intention was to take the full rich bounty into her mouth, she fumbled the
long stretch of meat from her lips after only three deep gulps.  Bozche
moi, and I thought the wine tasted delicious, she thought as she swallowed
as much of Brooks' cum as she could before it dribbled from her mouth, down
her chin and slopped wetly onto her large round tits.



   "UNNGH FFFFFUUUCK!" Cried Brooks.  His eyes were pinched shut as he felt
his body quake and then release into orgasm.  His knees threatened to
buckle several times as he came, and when he looked down to see Anya
slurped and gulping at all the cum she could, it reinforced the intensity
of his climax.  White globs of thick semen flew everywhere, hosing down the
couch, jutting over Anya's head to fall somewhere behind them, and several
sparse parcels of white somehow landing on the lampshade that stood to the
side of them.



   The orgasm lasted for only a couple minutes, but in the mogul's mind it
may as well have been an eternity.  Whenever he looked down to see the dark
eyes of the sexy Russian slut looking back up at him - his fat cockhead
wedged into her mouth or lips sucking at his now emptied balls - it'd give
rise to an aftershock of pleasure that would in turn cause more semen to
spurt from him.  It was a glorious cycle that both man and woman took
pleasure in.  God, he cums buckets like a horse, Anya thought, lapping at
the dregs that leaked from Brooks' spent cock hole.



   "Got DAMN woman!" Brooks' called in triumph.  "You weren't lying when
you said you were gonna get every drop." Anya smiled her devious smile as
licked at the glazed sides of Brooks' long thick cock.



   "Anya gets what Anya wants Mr.  Brooks.  You do well to remember, da?"



   "Da..." Brooks replied, placing his hands at his chiseled sides as he
observed Anya clean up the mess she'd made.

   She'd lick, lap and suckle every inch of Brooks' master sized cock for
some time after that.  Taking the relaxed pace of a spoiled house cat to
clean every inch of Brooks' big black dick of rich semen.  She'd leave his
cock licked clean, and then go to work at cleaning her huge tits of the
glazed bounty.  And as she cleaned herself, she would take notice -with
some slight degree of fear- how the act would cause Brooks to go hard
again. And as his cock rose yet again, she in turn would become wet.



   "Is going to be a long night, isn't it?" she'd say sheepishly.



   "Mrs.  White" Mr.  Brooks would reply with his handsome smile.  "It's
gonna be the longest night of your life..."

   ...



   Comrade Kostya,

   We are back at sea, oldest friend.  Back in the miserable and
ever-violent expanse of corroding water and cruel cutting air.  And while
my love for the sea has not grown in the smallest measure since beginning
this doomed journey, I must confess that its presence - in comparison to
the nightmare I have witnessed on foreign soil - is no short a boon and
blessing from the Zorias.  We are returning home, back to Cherniderivo,
after having barely escaped that earthbound circle of hell known as America
and its foul capitol den of deception and obscenity called New Orleans.  We
set sail early this morning, after much fighting and protest on my part,
our blaggard of a ship captain begrudgingly caved to our demands to flee us
from that place.  His round slovenly bearded face has been in a red flush
ever since, and the amount of daggers cast from his eyes towards me
whenever occupying the same space runs infinite.  A rather comical sight
actually.

   It will take us weeks before we set foot on Russian soil.  The rock and
sway of the ship is keeping me awake, empty bellied and greener than any
genus of frog on natural record.  And yet, to be away from those accursed
lands and its man-cloaked demons is a blessing.  Alas, though I am very
much eager to return home, back to our lands and the company of our
uncorrupted Russian kinsmen, I write you this letter with the solemn
knowledge and foreword that I - Sergei Cherninov - am a changed man...a
defeated man.  But you will more than likely know of this prior to even
reading this piece of salt scented parchment.  If Captain Hughes'
calculations are correct, and our current trek home is not met with
unforeseen peril from storm and rain, then by the time you read this letter
I will have been home for roughly several days.

   Undoubtedly you will notice a stark difference in the appearance and
manner of me and the woman I am wed.  Our once jovial and fresh faced
affection for one another, our youthful vigor will have been replaced with
something...else.  Something surly, frail and rooted in a noxious
bitterness that is felt in the ether of our company and viewed in the
vacantness of love in our eyes.  My wife has - for my lack of expertise on
the study of the female mind inclines me of labeling it thus - gone quite
mad, Kostya.  The assault and attempted rape from that black beast has left
her mind shattered, distorted.  She has taken to bursting out in fits of
rage, her tantrums spawning from the queerest belief that I am to blame. 
She blames me.  Not for her disappearance, or for my decision to bring her
along on this cursed journey.  I would have been prepared to face such an
accusation.  Niet, the reasoning behind her spouted bile is rooted in
something far more deranged.  Niet...my wife...the bitter accusations she
scowls and curses at me in her waking hours and murmurs in darkest vistas
of her sleep spawn from my act of interfering with the profane ritual back
in Congo Square.  She is angered by the fact I and my brother stopped the
monstrous dalliance...that I somehow...cheated her from participating in
the savage fest.

   I can hardly make sense of it myself.  It took me the better part of a
day to even grasp what she was telling me.  She assailed me with a barrage
of insults before my brother and the captain.  Cursing at me with words I
was not even aware she knew.  Though the assault was spoken in Russian,
Hughes could easily make sense of the scale and scope of the tumult.  She
kept repeating the same words;



   "You ruined it!  You ruined everything!  It was going to be beautiful!
You ruined it!"

   When I expressed confusion and issued query behind her rage, she would
curse at me, call me every sort of vile and belittling name that a woman in
the company of sailors could muster.  In our language, she would insult my
status and standing as a man, comparing the size and girth of that black
skinned abomination to mine.  Going into perverse detail, a psychotic
remembrance and reverie about how the beasts' member tasted and felt in her
mouth.  Recalling the affair out loud as though...as though it was a fond
distant memory.  She insulted me citing the weight of the creature's tool
while it was wedged in her maw, and comparatively describes mine as being
"light" and easy to heft in a woman's mouth as one would hand rolled
cigarette.  At this comrade, I am afraid my temper got the better of me.  I
rushed her, rushed my wife, and wrapping my hands around her throat
demanded she snap out of this horrible dementia.  My fingers clamped tight
around her throat I yelled;



   "What evil vexation has seeded itself in you, woman?!  What manner of
black magic has that negress bitch afflicted you with?!" For all my shouts
and demands, I received no answer.  Foremost because my fingers were
cutting off my wife's breath, and secondly because in another moment Hughes
and my brother had succeeded in prying me off the screaming woman.  As they
pulled me away from her, the air returned to her in a high pitched gasp. 
Before she could even fully recover, she was back at cursing me.

   "I will have my turn with him!" she hissed, a cruel confidence behind
her gasping breaths.  "I care not how long it takes.  Be it this life, or
the next.  I SHALL HAVE MY TURN WITH LORD DAMBALLAH!" The evil vow chilled
me to the bone, and staggered my brother more than he is willing to
confess. The certainty in her voice was so stout, solid as freshly forged
iron.  And the look that contained in her eyes, those gorgeous dark pools I
once stared into lovingly...they were replaced with something else. 
Something feral and wanton and unfitting for a fair daughter of
Cherniderivo.  My wife sleeps now.  When she is not occupied with hating me
and my interference of the wicked ritual, she sleeps.  Her rage quiets and
she curls herself among the sheets of our resting quarters.  I can't help
but notice the serenity in her manner and position when she is in this
state.  The contours of her beautiful face relax, and for a brief period
she resembles the fair skinned beauty I fell in love with.  Even when her
silent breaths are replaced with breathy moans, some scene of a dream
enrapturing her, she looks happier than I have seen her in many days.  When
the breathy moans grow too loud, her body twisting under the sheets and her
hands beginning to venture across her body, I wake her with my hands or
douse her with the water kept at her bedside.  When she awakens, the
peaceful demeanor fades, and the hateful glare rises across her brow once
again.  It's as if I am stopping the macabre ritual all over again every
time she lays her head down to rest.

   It is an exhausting task, for my sleep alludes me whenever she resting,
which is often.  And when she is awake I must watch her with the stern
glare of a hawk to insure she does nothing rash or that would inflict harm
upon herself.  I sorely ache for home old friend.  For I know that upon
returning to our lands, this curse that taken my wife will have faded
greatly, if not altogether relinquished its grip on her.  That is the only
viable solution I can muster.  The tragedy of this is however, is that even
upon our return, I fear that the rift between myself and my wife will
remain long after.  And even if that should not seem apparent in our
dynamic as husband and wife, I harbor the fear that a nugget, and element
or two of what those black creatures have done to my wife will remain
somewhere inside of her, embedded like an evil seed somewhere in her soul
that she will carry.  A fruitless and daft superstition I know...the
fearful ramblings of a broken man.  I can only hope and pray that this
failed venture will end with our return home, and we shall never need speak
or reminisce of it again.  I hope to see you in good health upon our return
comrade, for seeing a friend in good health will most certainly do well to
put my shaken nerves at ease.  When Inna has calmed to her usual self, I
would very much like for us to walk the forests as we used to before.  I
feel that my wife would benefit a great deal from reacquainting herself
with her homelands.  Take care comrade, the Zorias bless and protect you
and yours.  I will do my best to heal mine.

   Sincerely,

   Sergei.

   ...

   Anya White was on all fours upon the soaked lounge room couch when the
door opened.  The tops of her huge breasts peaking over the couches' top in
two pert mounds, her arms draped over the piece of furniture as though
bracing for a powerful impact.  Her lower body was propped up high and
proud behind her, her curvy hips and perfectly sculptured ass poking out
behind her in wait and expectation for her master sized cock's return.  Her
face was half turned to the towering mass of her master, Mr.  Brooks, whose
flawlessly toned and chiseled body stood behind her, one of his large
powerful hands cupping her left ass cheek as he placed his long thick cock
in the groove making up her ass crack.

   "Ohhhh, you such tease Mr.Brooks." Anya cooed, her tongue slipped
slightly out of her mouth and curled at a funny angle, almost looking as
though she was trying to lick the air where her black stud stood.

   They were both glossy with sweat, and while Anya was worn out from their
previous bouts, her body still quivered with delight and excitement at what
was the greatest fuck she'd ever been given in her life.  The long stretch
of meat motioned back and forth along her flushed white skin.  Brooks was
so long that she could feel his full cock head brushing nearer to her
shoulder blades!



   "Just enjoying the view my dear." Brooks replied, a focused look on his
face that was only broken by the slight smirk overtaking his mouth.  Anya's
hot skin on his cock felt almost as good as her pussy.  The way Anya would
back her body up against his at the apex of each stroke made his large
testicles smack and bump against her hot little furnace of a pussy.  Brooks
had had dozens of women of the years.  Two, three, four and sometimes even
five at a time.  So many that he was fairly certain his total number of
conquests numbered into the hundreds by now.  None of them however, quite
compared to this Russian beauty.  She'd sucked him, fucked him, drained his
balls of every drop of cum, licked the mess clean and started the process
all over again as though it were sole purpose in life.



   There was a familiarity in how she sucked his big black cock, a desire
to please that inched almost into desperation in how she rode his cock, and
a yearning to take every inch of him into her soaking wet pussy that
spanned far past the simplistic desire for orgasm, or the thrill of finally
having a cock worthy of goddesses-like body.  There was
something...'special' about Anya White.  Something that he'd known from the
moment he'd set eyes to hers, that he simply needed to have and possess. 
Even when he had taken her, her body bent over before him and wiggling her
plump but firm ass beneath his hardending fourteen inches, he felt he could
never have enough of her.  This woman, her perfect body, and all the
fucking she had to offer, was meant to be his.  This he knew to be an
ineffable truth in his bones, his balls, in his very being.

   This thought carved a path through Brooks' mind when the chamber door
swung open.



   "Ah!" replied Brooks upon looking up at the intruder, no hint of
surprise or iritation of the intrusion on his.  "Adella my dear!"

   And indeed, there stood Adella Laveau, a stacked and as gorgeous looking
at the day Brooks had first been approached by her.



   "So glad you could finally join us.  How are the guests doing?" As
Brooks said this, he using both of his hands to press Anya's ass cheeks
together, wedging his cock between the meat of her white buns and sawing
himself hard against her.



   "Very much occupied." Replied miss Laveau, the expression on her face
not shifting an inch at the sight of her employer playing with the naked
bottom of his guest.

   Anya was too busy coasting on the thick stretch of cock rubbing against
her butt and back to be surprised or shocked at the enterance of Brooks'
assistant.  Whether it was the lingering effects of the wine, her relaxed
state after having been pounded by Brooks' big black cock or a combination
of the two, Anya's face in turn did not shift in surprise at Laveau seeing
her employer play with her body.



   "He may be a repulsive pig, but Ferris outdid himself with his host
selection." Said Adela.  She stood before the pair, carrying on the
conversation as though Anya and Brooks weren't bare naked and in the throes
of playful fucking.  "Those girls were able to handle the entire room, and
still have enough energy to have some fun for themselves."



   "Really now?  Replied Brooks, his face not looking at Adela, but at the
firm round orbs of Anya's ass as he massaged them with his powerful hands
and enjoying the moans of pleasure the raven haired vixen purred in
response.  "I'm glad to hear that.  They certainly did appear to be a
lively group."

   Brooks tilted his long cock to the side, making way for his finger as it
gently prodded at Anya's star-fish shaped butthole.  "I was a little
worried that seven hostesses might have been overkill.  Our boys aren't too
worn out are they?"



   "No" replied Adela, "As it turned out, we had a bit of a break-in."



   "Break-in?" Brooks said, his eyes coming up from Anya's rich bounty of
behind to gaze at Adela.  There was something that had changed in his eyes
in that moment, his jovial brown eyes dipping into something stern and made
somewhat sinister by the sudden furrowing of his brow.



   "Relax" replied Adela.  "I took care it.  Just a few local boys trying
to sneak into the party.  No harm done."



   "You know how much I dislike unexpected guests and loose variables
Adela" said Brooks, a hint of warning on his tongue.



   "I'm well aware.  So instead of sending them away or calling the
police-"



   "Yes, Loas forbid we tear Coxville's finest away from their donuts"
interrupted Broke, slamming his heavy nutsack a few times against Anya's
pink pussy



   "Instead" Adela continued, "I invited them in to join us."







   "Is that so?" asked Brooks tilting his head back down to spy the lovely
Anya's body shoving itself backwards and onto his bountiful nut sack.



   "Yes" replied Adela.  "They're getting themselves acquainted with our
guests and staff...deeply acquianted in fact."

   "I see..." said Brooks tersely.  A thought crossed his mind in the form
of yet another smirk.  "I'll trust your judgement then."



   "You'd be wise to, sir.  Our guests and staff are giving them treatment
of kings.  They'll be absolutely no reason or room for grievance or
complaint."



   "Very well...looks like you've outdone yourself yet again, my dear. 
Tonight was a smashing success.  I simply don't know what I'd do without
you."

   Miss Laveau's face turned into a coy smile.



   "You'd have spent all your days partying and whoring in New Orleans."
She replied.

   At this both mogul and assistant laughed.



   "I do think you're right on that one Miss Laveau.  Wasting my potential
running around in the streets there, when my...talents...would be so better
applied...here."

   the here in Brooks' sentence was marked by the motion of his shoving his
fat cock bewteen Anya's pink pussy lips, who reared up and cried out in
full ecstasy as he invaded her.



   "OHHHHH!" cried Anya, "So goo`~oood!"

   Her pussy clamped down tight on his dick head, almost barring him entry
from the rest of hot insides.  His face clenched from the strain.  Sweet
Legba!, he thought, even after all that, she's still so tight!  And as if
reading his thoughts through his facial expression, Adela spoke.

   "This one's giving you quite a time, isn't she?"

   "The hardest time by far, Miss Laveau...would you care to give me a
hand?" With this, Brooks lifted a hand from Anya's ass and held it out
towards Adela, the gesture looking as though he were inviting her for a
dance.



   "I...wouldn't want to overwork you in front of your guest." Adela
replied, the tease in her voice somehow sounding like both a humble decline
and an issued challenge.  "Besides, I should go check on our guests."



   "Our guests will be fine", Brooks insisted, his hand lifting the
slightest bit higher towards.  "You sorely underestimate my ability to
multi-task."

   Secretly Adela acknowledged this.  As stated before, Brooks had handled
women by the double, triple, quadruple and quintuple quantities.  She'd
witnessed several of these trysts first hand.  Still, Adela maintained
confidence in knowing that she could outfuck all of those other women, as
she'd gone toe-to-toe with Brooks on her own on many occasion, each time
only being moderately destroyed by his big black cock prior to making him
cum the equivalent of a small pool.  They'd never engaged in a threesome
before however, and - admittedly - Adela was quite taken by Mrs.  White's
beauty and foreign charm.



   "Well..." Adela said coyly, merely putting on the farce of hesitation.



   "Come here baby" Brooks said in his low bass tone.  "Get in here."



   "Yeah baby, get in here!" Anya said in turn, mimicking Brooks' call.

   "You been working hard for me all night.  Now its time for me to put
some work in for you."

   Miss Laveau's smile widened, and as she shut the door behind her both
Anya and Brooks beamed with a devious joy.  Adela didn't say a word, merely
undoing the buttons of her tight fitting blouse, and allowing it to part to
expose her perfect ebony skin.  Adela, no longer being able to hold in or
resist the sight of Brooks' monster cock, removed the straps of her bra and
skirt in what appeared to be a flash.  Anya actually gasped, a tiny blast
of air escaping her lungs as she beheld the naked form of Mr.  Brooks'
assistant.



   Her body was a temple.  A living work of darkly shaded art.  A deep
colored momument to physical perfection.  Huge round breasts with matching
round dark brown areolas, a tight waist, lower and upper stomach sculptured
flawlessly with a mix of effeminate curve and strong looking muscle.  Thick
muscular thighs unlike anything Anya had beheld, long smooth chocolate legs
that flexed alluringly from the arch of her still-worn high heel shoes. 
And a neat patch of black pubic hair in the shape of a tiny upside down
triangle guided the eye down to what had to be one of the most beautiful
vaginas the raven haired Russian had ever seen.

   "Bozche MOI!" said Anya, her mouth turning into an O surprise and
wonder. "Sh-she's..."

   "Exquisite, yes?" said Brookes, filling in the stammer of Anya's words.

   "D-Da..." was all Anya could say.

   Frozen in place, his long cock hardening and her pussy dripping more
readily, Brooks and Anya could only watch in wonder as the dark skinned
goddess sauntered over to them.  The rhythmic clack clack of her high heel
shoes setting an audible tempo, the hypnotic bounce of her huge round
coco-breasts as she approached them making both mulatto man and Russian
woman's nerves race and flex with anticipation.  When Adela finally got
into touching range, she lowered herself to Anya, gripping her gently by
the back of her raven hair and pulled her in for a deep, passionate
woman-on-woman kiss.  Trapped in the ebony goddess' firm grip, Anya felt a
wash of pleasure suddenly flow over her.  The big black cock of her master
inside her from behind, the slick delicious tongue of her black mistress in
her mouth.



   It was heaven for the daughter of Cherniderivo, and for the remainder of
that evening, the trio shared that heaven with one another, their orgasms
coming aplenty and often, while the rabble and noise of the party and
recorded mystical chanting below carried on into the night.

   ...



   Hours and hours later, the sun - late in its ascent into morning, as
though somehow delayed by the will of the Brooks estate and its guests -
finally rose.  The big yellow ball hanging high over Coxville county shone
bright with its normal blinding hue, lacking any signs of the bloody sheen
of its opposite the moon had carried the previous evening.  The hail of
bird chirps, the scattered calls of dog and cat and a host of other sounds
heralding the arrival of morning as it spread throughout the proud patch of
the Deep South.  Inside the Brooks estate, its guards, guests, hostesses
and unexpected company slowly awoke back into the land of the living,
having exhausted each other into a collective sleep that resembled almost a
kind of group coma.



   There, in the center of the huge hall laid the players of the previous
evening, scattered hither and thither, plopped on couch, floor and even
table.  Leaned against wall and spread across carpet (still slightly damp
with shed bodily fluids).  Their spell of sleep slowly lifting with the
rise of sun, a large group of naked bodies -black and white - lay strewn
about the expanse of the manor.  LD - worn out and winded and in a deep
sleep - lay naked on the couch, his long limbs outstretched over the
furniture in four directions.  The hostesses Mariah and Tanya were at his
right and left, and in an equally deep sleep.  Their final orgasms given by
the tall black boy's long cock had left them content to fall asleep right
where they fell, more than happy to share their black stud in sleep as they
did whilst awake.



   Bodyguard Darius laid slouched on the nearby loveseat, his titanic dark
frame in the piece of furniture making him look like an African king
slumbering in an ill-fitting throne.  His huge muscular arms hung lazily
over the arm rests of the chair, weary from a night's work of holding up
hundred plus pound women's bodies and holding multiple pairs of breasts and
ass cheeks in their necessary places.  At his feet laid twins Melanie and
Mindy, their lily white skin bare and slick with the night's emissions on
the large carpet.  They each had an arm wrapped around the giant black
man's massive legs, their white hands gripped firmly at the lines of solid
muscle which made up his calves.  The delectable pair had fucked the big
black guard for the better part of the night and the spent what hours
remained of the evening getting manhandled by the other prize black cocks
scattered about the room.  The identical smiles creasing the lips of both
women were a silent testimony to how much fun they'd had, their positions
at Darius feet the proof of who they favored most of the pack.



   Not far away was Coxville's own princess, Cassie Van Buskirks.  Once
again she'd found herself with Terrance, youngest bodyguard of the crew. 
The blond beauty laid atop the junior bodyguard, her extensive white chest
pressed atop of his solid ebony pecks, one of her dainty hands placed right
on the spot where his heart would be.  Terrance meanwhile had one of his
large hands cupping the bountiful meat of the Coxvillian beauty's ass.  If
his hand had somehow slipped from place, an observer would have easily
noticed the angry red hand print on Cassie's white cheek.  Only a meager
amount of further observation would have proven the hand print to be a
perfect match for the young black man.



   The silent hostesses Merissa lay quiet as ever at one of the further
ends of the foyer, nestled in the adjacent loveseat like a cat enjoying a
long deserved respite.  Her body was perhaps the most hard used of the lot,
as she refused to take no fewer than two big black cocks at a time in the
twilight hours of the dalliance.  Near her on the floor was Tammy aka Big
Red and the curvaceous Californian Kami.  The two tallest and thickly built
ladies in the room, their gorgeous shapely bodies looked spent and well
used.  Their hair was tussled into an outright mess while slumped atop the
sleeping Deon, whose snores sounded something like a hippopotamus
attempting to hold back a sneeze with spaced breaths, and failing miserably
each time.  The alluring rise and fall of both white women's ample naked
chests seemed to almost keep tempo with Deon's heavy exhalations.



   Bobbie Sue Kindle, Melvin, Rhonda Van Buskirks, Candy Cox and the eldest
bodyguard Zulu lay in a near dog pile at the center of the sleeping
company. The elder Cox woman had one of her long silken legs draped over
the deep skinned bodyguard, and - as if competing even in sleep - Rhonda
had one of her long arms draped over the black man's extremely muscular
chest, her massive breasts all but shoved against the black man in a
gesture that silently screamed challenge and opposition to her rival.  And
nearer to the center of the slumbering group was Stubby.  Atop him was the
flawlessly toned and bronzed figure of Marisol.



   Marisol and Stubby had found themselves coming back to each other more
than several times over the course of the orgy, and had worked themselves
into such a hard and expansive ruckus that they'd actually fallen asleep
fucking.  Stubby's fat black cock was still wedged half inside Marisol's
sweet Spanish pussy, her body still prostrated atop his the sleeping
version of the cowgirl position they'd initiated and maintained fiercely
until exhausting each other into a deep sleep.  Even while sleeping,
Marisol refused to let Stubby's black cock slip outside of her, and had
rocked and popped her plump posterior on the short Negro until her muscles
screamed.  Stubby's cock - limp and completely drained - had found warmth
inside the sexy Spaniard's tight insides for the better part of the night.

   And all around them, at the fringes of the spectacle, were the spent
bodies of the white men of Coxville.  Surrounding the cluster of humungous
black cocks and ample white bosoms were the soft pasty physiques of
Coxville's most powerful.  Both the great and the good behind the proud
southern town lay in a circular worn out stupor, exhausted from bearing
witness to their women and servants being pounded silly by a band of big
black brothers.  Their eyes slowly opened onto the sight.  Wives and
daughters, teachers and servants coiled and snuggled up to massive muscular
bodies of brown and deep black shade.  However their minds did not -could
not--process the sight.  While any sane or sensible man would have awoken
with a pang of horror and outrage, the mayor, sheriff, county bankers and
well-to-do gentlemen of the evening saw nothing out of the ordinary.  At
least, nothing out of the ordinary they were allowed to see by Adela
Laveau's will.



   Herein lay the true genius of voodoo priestess' spell.  Even while the
group's bodies stirred and slowly awoke, their conscious minds coming alive
with the onset of morning, they were still trapped in the spell's haze. 
All the men and women who had partaken of the wine had not yet fully come
back to their senses, but had simply awoken from the brunt of the
premeditated deception.



   When Mrs.  Van Buskirks and her daughter rose from the sides of their
black bulls, no screams or shouts of shock arose from their mouths.  No
screaming bloody murder nor presumed rape.  Instead, they silently dressed
themselves, a vacant - almost otherworldly - glaze encapsulated in their
eyes and rendering their faces a pair of pale beautiful masks.  When Mrs.
Bobbie Sue Kindle had arisen from her spot of the floor and moved herself
gently from under Melvin - the black nerd's head planted between her large
white breasts like a suckling babe to a teat - she did not do so with a
start.



   Under the pull and sway of the spell, she simply proceeded to wipe the
dregs of slobber from her chest, woke her husband who - naturally - was
trapped in a similar deception, and quietly scanned the room for their
discarded pieces of clothing.  They dressed themselves upon rising up from
under the bodies of their fallen fellow orgy-participants, and - without
fuss or controversy - exited the manor.



   Not a sigh or sign of protests could be seen from twins Melanie and
Mindy as they rose from the legs of Darius, and dressed themselves in each
other garments, uncertain of which belonged to whom, since they wore
identical outfits.  And thereafter, one by one, each member of the party
silently opened the front door to the area where their cars resided.  This
procession of semi-conscious white folk went on for next hour or so.  The
alcohol had long burned through systems, so their respective drives home
weren't hindered by any signs of drunkenness.  The early morning jogger or
passerby seeing only what look like to be a very tired - presumably hung
off - batch of rich yuppies, after having what must have been the time of
their lives.



   Upon arriving to their homes, the men and women of Coxville would (of
course) be impelled to shower.  The hot water would wash away all the signs
of their activities, the thick cum and sweat and wine disappearing down the
drain.  Afterwards, each Coxvillian participant would be lulled into their
beds, and back into the sweet warmth of sleep.  A small hibernation for the
women after such a laborious evening, a small reprieve for the men who
could do not but bear witness to the act.  As the guests slowly filed out
of the manor, climbed into their cars and onwards to their own abodes, the
black males and gorgeous hostesses one by one came back to life.  Unlike
their patrons, the hostesses did not carry the hypnotized symptoms.  They
had engaged in the act free of the wine and of their own will, and were
thus free to speak and wander about the room as they willed.  Stubby - upon
realizing he'd fallen asleep inside smoking hot Marisol - had begun to grow
large again.  This stirred Marisol from her own sleep with a light groan,
and her first motions of the day consisted of obliging Stubby's monster
cock with her curvy hips and full ass.  It was as though their bodies were
picking up where they had left off the previous evening.  Kami and Tammy
awoke at about the same time.





   "Damn..." Tammy groaned, rubbing the remains of sleep from her eyes. 
"Feels like I got hit by about a dozen buses".



   "Yeah" Kami affirmed, "a dozen black buses." Kami rubbed at her inner
thigh whilst saying this.

   Their muscles were tight and on fire, but they giggled at one another
all the same.  Their giggle elevated to laughter upon setting eyes on
Stubby and Marisol.



   "Jeez you two.  A whole night'a that wasn't enough for ya'll?" said
Tammy jokingly.



   "Best case ah mornin wood I dun eva had in ma life!" chuckled Stubby.

   "Si!" purred Marisol.

   One by one the others came to life from their various positions.  LD
woke not long after, as did Delilah and Mariah, Tanya and Merissa.  Zulu
collected himself from his spot on the carpet and quickly got to the
business of dressing himself, silent as ever.  The morning was filled with
flirtaceous complaints of sore parts, one or two morning blowjobs,
stretching of several kinds, and the surreptitious exchanging of phone
numbers among the hostesses and black men,



   "For next time when I'm in town" said Delilah, writing her personal cell
number down on a "Sam-Edi Enterprises" card and playfully slipping it
underneath the front of LD's do-rag.  Marisol and Tammy did the same for
Stubby and "Big" Rich respectively, while Zulu would later come to find a
slip of paper in his jacket pocket some hours later, the message written
next to the scrawled phone number reading;

   "Had an amazing night.  We should do it again sometime.  Keep that
anaconda healthy, old timer." - Merissa

   His mouth would crack into the semblance of a smile upon reading.  And
when all had finally been said and done, the trio of Deon, LD, and Stubby
filed out of the side door.  Stubby cursed loudly when he stumbled over the
sleeping mass of Todd White.  LD lightly kicked the White boy back into the
land of the living.

   "Yo!  White Hot Hands, wake up nigga!" Barked Deon, which caused Todd to
jump up in a start.



   "Wh-what!?  Oh god!" Todd said, still coming to grips with where he was
and trying to recall exactly how he'd gotten there.  "Wh-what the fuck
guys? You left me out here all night!"

   "Yeah" confessed LD shamelessly.  "Ma bad.  We uh..."



   "We threw it DOWN in der, Hot Hands!" finished Stubby enthusiastically.
"You ain't gonna BELIEVE the typa shit we dun did dude.  That Brooks nigga
know how to turn UP ma nigga!"



   "Wait...you guys did what?  You guys were in there partying?"



   "Sheeeit, partied?!  Nigga we was up in der layin that SERIOUS pi-" LD
then came in with a quick nudge aimed at the shorter negro's ribs.



   "He just fuckin wit you White Hot Hands."



   "Really?"



   "Yeah, that bitch busted us cuz this little nigga" LD said, pointing an
accusatory finger at Stubby, "can't keep his damn mouf shut.  Had us doin
work all night an shit."

   "And you guys didn't bail, or call me?"

   "Nah man" Deon added, co-signing LD's lie.  "We didn't call yo snow ass
up der.

   You want to be worked like a slave on a plantation?" Todd tossed the
idea around in his head.  Observing the trio, they most certainly did look
hard used.  Bags under the eyes, slumped appearance, their clothes looking
splotched with sweat and wrinked almost beyond reason.



   "Yeah..you're right." Said Todd.  "Looks like they worked you guys to
the nub".  The trio chuckled and snorted silently to themselves.  Indeed,
the three black man had been worked to the bone.  Their testicles felt like
balls of concrete inside them from overuse.



   "Man...sounds like a real drag." Said Todd.  "Guess I got lucky on that
one."



   "Yeah" said Deon with a half-masked snort of laughter, "lucky".

   Not long after the four boys made their way from the manor grounds,
gradually fanning out in separate ways to their respective abodes.  Todd
White would leave the company far earlier than LD and the others, his home
being located in the suburbs and therefore not far away from the Brooks
mansion.  LD, Deon and Stubby would gradually depart one another's company
after entering the dingy streets of Coxville `dark' quarter, the ghettos of
N-Town.  Upon arriving home, Todd would realize that - despite having had a
full (if uncomfortable) night of sleep - he was still exhausted.



   He toyed with the idea of ditching school that day while crossing the
dew riddled grass lawn and entering the house.  By the time he'd managed to
trudge his way up the stairs he was pretty sure that the labor of going to
school that day wouldn't be worth his time.  By the time he collapsed into
his warm bed - shoes and day worn clothing still on - he'd fallen into
another spell of sleep within a minute.  The idea of school and being
forced to see Kitty, Samson, Pamela or anyone else associated with his
social life fell into the realm of non-possibility, regardless of how loud
his stepmother barked at him.  Todd was so exhausted, that he hadn't even
noticed his parents weren't in their beds, his bitch of a stepmother not
hounding him to rise with the sun.



   LD, Stubby and Deon would later reach their individual homes and fall
upon the same decision of non-attendance that day, and for just reason if
one were to be asked.  Sore didn't even begin to cover how worn the three
Negroes bodies felt.  Their muscles screamed with each motion, their legs
and calves felt like they'd been run through hot coals, and their cocks and
balls felt like they'd been replaced with concrete.  Upon collapsing into
their respective beds however, their aches and pains subsided, the memory
of the previous night soothing them into a sound sleep, with smiles etched
firmly on each of their dark faces.



   And at the manor, Alexander Shemar Brooks lay spent on the worn in white
couch.  Lying at both his sides were the firm and bountiful bodies of
goddesses, one white one brown.  After all the guests had finally filed out
and the seven hostesses - after a series of long hot showers, a delectable
pre-made breakfast from the manor's chefs and freshly dawned clothes -
their slumber had continued.  Anya had been a handful on her own, giving
him the time for the better of the evening by herself.  When his trusted
assistant Adela Laveau had joined the fray however, it had - somehow -
revitalized her.  Brooks could hardly make sense of the feat, but somehow
his brown skinned beauty (normally a titan in bed in her own right) had
invigorated Anya and inspired her to double her efforts once she'd entered.



   Working as a team, Adela and Anya sucked and fucked, slobbered and
gyrated on the caramel skinned mogul.  And when they weren't busy giving
Brooks access to their wet and wanton holes, they would have at each other
like women possessed.  Brooks knew Laveau to be bi-sexual, but Anya Brooks'
attraction to his sexy protégé surprised even him.  The trio went at each
other again and again, using their parts on each other to the degree that
their fucking almost resembled a battle.  And when it was all said and done
- Brooks' balls milked of every drop of seed - they'd collapsed onto each
other and the used couch, sweaty and exhausted and thoroughly satisfied. 
It had been a night unlike any other.



   Brooks lay in the center of the small dog pile, retracing in his mind
the events of the evening, gnawing with glee at every moment of the hours
past.  Anya White's eyes soon fluttered open and she rose from her spot on
the couch.  It took her a moment or two to remember where she was and how
she'd gotten there.  It only took one shift in her sore and aching body to
recall what had happened.



   "Bozhe moi!" groaned Anya, her body screamed from the beating she'd
taken the previous night.

   Unlike the other guests, Anya remembered everything that had occurred
the night prior.  No haze or fog lingering in her brain from the wine, and
having been in a separate room at the time of the spell's activation, she'd
not been in the zombified trance of her fellow party-goers.

   "Morning" said Brooks as he stretched an arm from under her.  After only
a glance at the smirking man, she kissed him.



   " < Good morning > " she replied in Russian.  "

   An onlooker watching the sight would have seen them as a sexy married
couple, greeting one another with morning compliments.

   " < You were a very bad boy last night > " she said smirking,
remembering what she'd done the night before and not feeling the slightest
bit bad about it.  Guilt and Anya had come to a crossroads, and Anya
gleefully decided to part ways.  Brooks' strong build, devastating charm
and mammoth sized cock served as her primary motivation.  Nothing that felt
that good for that long could be bad, she'd decided.



   " < I guess that the guilty party numbering three.  > " Brooks replied.
Adela stirred awake from the morning banter after Brooks said this, as
though on queue.



   "Oh my..." she said, rising from her spot on the couch and stretching
her long luscious arms over her head like a cat.  "Anyone get the number of
that truck?" She tilted her head from left to right, a light *pop* sounding
with each motion of her neck.



   "Honk, honk!" Brooks sounded jokingly.



   "You were certainly impressive last night Mr.  Brooks...but the truck
I'm talking about was...of Russian make and model."

   Adela's sexy dark eyes settled on Anya, who returned her gaze with equal
fervor.  The two gave each other a light but lingering morning kiss, which
incited the three into a shared laughed.  A three sided joke fit only for
their threesome.



   "You've certainly inspired me to take up yoga again, Mrs.  White." Said
Adela.

   "I'd forgotten parts of me could even bend the way they did last night."



   "And you remind me to work thighs more in gym, Ms.  Laveau" complimented
Anya in kind.  "Please, call me Anya."



   "Only if you call me Adela" the busty Negress replied.  The three played
with the idea of having another go to ring in the new morning, but before
things could continue, Anya jumped up with a start and gasp.

   "Oh shit!" she cursed, her naked body rising from the couch and
frantically searching for her discarded garments.  She'd remembered that
Tom was still waiting for her!  She hastily dressed herself and shot out of
the room.  By now he was certain to have noticed her absence, and would be
livid upon realizing that she'd been gone for the bulk of - no - the entire
night with Mr.  Brooks.  Anya worried that he'd have deduced their goings
on and was already having a fit.  Every horrible scenario and outcome
played through her mind...until she found him however.



   She found Tom sleeping soundly and done in proper from the drinking of
so much Diabolique wine.  He'd wandered into a separate nook inside the
manor, far enough removed from the foyer holding the party that he -
apparently - had not been touched by the spell once Adela had initiated it.
Instead he had wandered the halls in a drunken stupor (looking for Anya),
and had collapsed onto an idle loveseat in another area of the manor when
his efforts failed.



   In the clear, Anya gently kicked her husband awake with a bare foot, and
- to add a bit of theater in covering her tracks - put on a grand show of
actually being cross with the man for `disappearing in the middle of the
party'.  Tom awoke in a slurry string of apologies to his beautiful wife
and - reluctantly - gave a solemn apology to the tall mogul who stood just
behind her.  Mr.  Brooks smilingly accepted Tom's apologies.



   "Oh now we'll have none of that" said Brooks.  "You know what they say;
if you can remember everything that happened, it wasn't a proper party". 
Brooks pressed down Tom's embarrassment with a few jovial nudges to his
ribs.  Tom was thoroughly hung over, and put up little fuss when Anya
insisted she drive them home...and failed to notice that through the entire
morning conversation Mr.  Brooks had been in his loose fitting bathrobe.

   "Hmmmm..." Brooks sounded as the Whites took their leave from his home.



   "I know that tone" said Adela, who was slinking her arms around his bare
chest as he spied the married couple driving away from his bedroom window.
"What's on your mind Mr.  Brooks?"



   "I...I simply can't shake this feeling I have about Mrs.  White."



   "Well" Adela replied, her mouth close enough to Brooks' ear that she was
practically nibbling on his ear lobe.  "After last night, I can hardly
blame you.  She's an exquisite creature....fucks you almost as good as I
do..."

   As she said this, Adela was sliding a hand down Brooks' chest, and
firmly gripped the base of his long cock.



   "Not just that" Brooks said, his gaze holding the image of the Whites'
car as it drove off into the distance.  "I keep feeling like I've...like
I've met her somewhere before."



   "Really?" purred Adela, her attention divided between listening to her
boss and master's words as much as kneading his giant cock.  "I'm fairly
certain that you'd have told me about someone like her coming
along...unless you were being selfish and trying to keep her to yourself".



   "It was before I knew you..." Brooks said, a fogginess and
uncharacteristically vacant tone carried in his voice.  It was as though he
was trying to place where and when he'd come across her.



   "Shemar..." Adela said, an equally uncharacteristically formal tone
carried in the sexy black woman's voice, "I've known you your entire life."



   "This life...yes...and yet..." Brooks trailed off.  "Something else you
said earlier.  Something about a `Russian model'..."



   Adela laughed, "Where is your head today?  Were we both too much for you
after all?  We leave your brain scrambled this morning?" She kneaded and
toyed with his testicles in her hand.



   "Yes- I mean- no...I just think..."

   Brooks turned on his heel to face his brown skinned vixen, his bright
smile beaming brighter than ever on his caramel features.  "I think I just
had an idea for a new business venture..."

   Adela looked up at him and smiled.



   "You always know just what to say to get me wet, Mr.Brooks."

   The two then fell into a deep passionate kiss, their lips and tongues
pressed against each hard enough to where it almost hurt.  Adela wrapped
one of her legs around Brooks' hip, the thick muscle of her thigh pulling
him close to her.  This would incite yet another round of hard and heavy
sex between the pair.  One which would continue uninterrupted for most of
the day.  ...

   By the time Anya had removed Tom's clothes and gotten him into bed where
he could sleep off his hangover, it was closer to one in the afternoon.  A
huge chunk of the day had been lost, but Anya was in high spirits.  She
went downstairs into her living room with the intention of getting in a
rigorous round of yoga, but would only manage to plop herself down on the
couch upon arriving there.  I got stretched more than enough last night,
she concluded in her mind, and instead made herself content to lounge on
her wide couch and slip in and out of a comfortable cat-nap in her tight
fitting yoga pants and tank-top.  And so it was that that day the White
home was silent, all three of its residents held in the confines of sleep.
Three sleeping bodies made as such for three very different reasons, yet
spawned from a single point of origin.

   ...



   In the attic of the White house, the slew of tumbled letters still lay
where they did the previous evening near the opened box;

   Dearest Anya,





   If you are reading this, then it means you have finally decided to open
the box as I told you to.  Stubborn a child as you are, I am grateful you
have heeded your mother's words for once in your life.  I had not the time
to tell you properly, as you were so impatient to leave home, so I am
writing you this now to explain as best I can.  What you find inside will
likely confuse you.  I know it confused me when my mother - your
grandmother - passed them on to me, and in kind confused her when her
mother did the same.  I can do little to explain it aside from saying;
these letters are your birthright, my daughter.

   These letters I give you are not some silly family heirloom, or old
rumpled trinkets to be taken lightly.  These letters Anya, are nothing
short of history itself.  Though what you read on them will sound like
something out of fiction, I guarantee you it is quite real.  I know this,
because my mother swore as such to me, as her mother did before her when
she came of age and her mother to her daughter.  For generations and
generations, leading all the way back to your ancestor, Inna Cherninov. 
These letters were indeed written in the era and year they claim, and have
been passed down from mother to daughter in the Cherninov family for
decades.  Why they are exactly remains a mystery to me, but the story makes
up the closest thing to a 'family legend' as one could have.  The way I was
told from your grandmother, wat that the wife of the man your ancestor
Sergei was writing to - Kostya - had accidentally stumbled upon the letters
early on during their voyage to the Americas.  Some sort of delay kept the
letters from reaching Kostya's home, and his wife stumbled upon the tale of
Inna and her beloved 'Black Beast' at its middle point.  Knowing that
Kostya would have seized the letters and never allowed her to read them,
she proceeded to intercept the rest from his sight in the months that
followed, and read them in secret.

   As the story intensified, so did the secrecy of the letters, which
eventually were handed back to your ancestor Inna covertly upon her arrival
home.  After swearing to Kostya's wife the authenticity of the tale, your
ancestor Inna took and would keep these letters as testimony of her
travels. A memento of how her travels and experiences.  It may not make
sense to you now, but you will understand upon reading it for yourself.  It
is a story that...dare I say, needs to be known to the women of our family.
Us Cherninov women tend to discover that our...how can I say...coldly
rational selections in husbands often carries over into our beds.  A sad
truth, yet one which we are more capable of accepting than anyone would or
could know.  Whether or not certain parts of the story were embellished, it
is a tale that we women must know.  As crass as the tale and our ancestor
Inna's acts may be, one must admit the mental images it instills are
profoundly erotic.

   As your mother, I am responsible for passing on such knowledge to you.
Besides that, tradition is tradition, and the women of our family keep this
secret tale as ours and ours alone.  So read the letters my child.  Read
them, and one day pass them on to your daughters when they are of age. 
Never tell your husband, nor your new son, nor anyone else who is not
Russian and of our own kin.  It may strike you as a strange tradition, but
it ours nonetheless.  Stubborn though you may be, you might even discover
yourself enjoying the story as much as I did.  You'd be surprised how many
cold nights I've been able to warm myself to the story of our Inna and her
fabled Prospero Black.

   When I am finally able to convince your father to let them travel, I
will send your sisters to visit you.  Share these letters with them in
secret, and swear them to secrecy as well.  Everything else is answered in
the letters my child.

   Read them in secret, and enjoy them in silence.

   Your Mother,

   Katya



   The slightest shift in the air then fluttered through the room.  A gust
of air that caused the letter to slide just the tiniest bit sideways,
clearing one's sight to the scattered stack of paper articles laying
beneath it.  And among the pieces of parchment was a curious item.  An old,
withered photograph.  A black and white picture, yellowed round the edges
and hard used by the gradual erosion of time, but still preserved none the
less.  The picture was of a young man and woman.  The man, dark haired and
stoutly European looking, holding the woman's hand in the photo and wearing
a reserved smirk which conveying more uncertainty than anything else.  The
woman - a ravishing creature of timeless beauty - dark haired and smiling
brightly on what looked to be the boulevard of a crowded urban city.  The
blurred faces making up the background, captured in time with the movement
of their random directions coming and going.  The woman in the center was
easily the most striking subject of the photo.  Her lush raven hair,
flawless cheek bones, pleasantly shaped nose and bountiful buxom build
which was displayed alluringly, despite the cut of her conservative
old-world dress seemed to be caught in time.  Her hair was mid-wave in the
breeze as she stared at something off-camera, the sight obviously pleasing
her into that winning smile of hers.



   If one were to look at the photo, unaware of its history or origin,
they'd have sworn the radiant subject in the photo to have been Anya White
herself.  Caught in some mock photo she - along with the suited male
companion at her side - must have taken in gest at some sort of renaissance
fair, the photographer having purposely used some sort of crafty technique
to cleverly dull and make the recently taken photo look withered and far
older than it really was.  And upon being informed that the woman in the
picture was in fact not the same raven haired Russian Coxville wife, they'd
have - perhaps - quaked with a start of shock, perplexion and disbelief. 
The resemblance far more than uncanny between the two women, identical
twins who had - somehow - been separated by scores and decades time.  The
resemblance so close that it rung as eerie, every curve and shape matching
so precisely to Anya's own.  There the photo sat, unseen and still kept
secret by the mother Cherninov's will, and waiting to be collected from the
haphazard pile on the attic floor.  And if one were to listen closely,
their ears perked and patient in the ether while their eyes were settled
unwaveringly on the photo, they'd likely - in due time - hear a voice from
somewhere...else.  Its pitch so faint it could have either been shouted
from some high plain on the outskirts of town, or whispered into the ear of
the listener.  An effeminate voice, one coated in an almost frantic
pleasure and tilting into the raw throes of lust - as it called out, the
quiver carried in the words only conceivably being identified as a woman
when in the apex of a thunderous orgasm;



   "Hail Damballah~!"

   - End